


we're just two lost souls (swimming in a fish bowl)

by Veilder



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: (and a bit of physical h/c too let's not kid ourselves), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Canon-Typical Violence, Connor Deserves Happiness, Connor Needs A Hug, Connor gets a hug, Convin Secret Santa 2020, Different Deviation Point, Elijah Kamski & Gavin Reed are Siblings, Elijah Kamski Being Elijah Kamski, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Happy Ending, Flashbacks, Fluff and Angst, Gavin Reed Backstory, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Protective Connor, Protective Hank Anderson, RK Bros 4 Life, Sharing a Body, Zen Garden (Detroit: Become Human), shifting pronouns
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-09-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:13:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veilder/pseuds/Veilder
Summary: Connor stands there in the snowfall and thinks of Gavin Reed, a man it had met only twice and with varying levels of antagonism, but had lived through a lifetime with. It thinks of his strength of spirit, his perseverance, his fortitude. And it wonders what it might be like, being loved by him. If his capacity for love is great enough to carve a path through the cold, plastic casing of an android.Connor stands there in the snowfall and it wonders if Gavin would even care enough to try.(Or, an alternate universe fic where soulbonds are real, memory-sharing can happen at any moment, and a certain android sent by CyberLife is about to be in for a rude awakening concerning those first two points.)
Relationships: Amanda & Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60, Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900, Connor/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Connor, Hank Anderson & Gavin Reed
Comments: 136
Kudos: 265





	1. a smile from a veil

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NHMoonshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NHMoonshadow/gifts).



> Alright, here we go, my submission for the [Convin Secret Santa](https://convin-secret-santa-2020.tumblr.com/) event being hosted over on Tumblr! My recipient is the amazing [NHMoonshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NHMoonshadow/pseuds/NHMoonshadow%E2%80%9D>NHMoonshadow</a>) here on AO3, who wrote one of my favorite fics on this site. (If you haven't read _Running Uphill_ , please, treat yourself.) I was working from these three prompts:
> 
> 1.) Connor and Gavin protecting each other  
> 2.) sweet/awkward meet-cute of the soulmate variety  
> 3.) a soft exploration of each other
> 
> Well... I saw these and sorta just... combined all of them into this chimera of a fic. u^_^ I hope you can still enjoy this, even if it went a little bit all over the place with what you were hoping for! I swear, I didn't mean for it to end up this long! (I'd planned for this to be a oneshot, believe it or not.) Instead, I wrote 30k in the span of three weeks like a _lunatic!_ XD So if it's a little bit below my usual standard, please blame it on that, omg.
> 
> Since this is all completely written, I'm gonna try to upload chapters as soon as I finish editing them. So this one shouldn't take too long!
> 
> Also, gotta give a big shoutout to my friend, [alettepegasus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alettepegasus/works)! Thank you so much for letting me talk at you about a fic for a fandom you're not even in, lol. I woulda ripped all my hair out without you, bud. XD
> 
> Now, finally, on with the fic! Hope y'all enjoy! ^_^

// **Date:** Aug 15th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 8:29 PM//  
  
The elevator ascends with a quiet hum, accented only by the metallic clinks of a coin flipping through the air. The RK800 catches it between nimble fingers, flicking it back and forth in increasingly elaborate patterns. The numbers pass quickly—68… 68… 69—before finally halting, the doors opening to the 70th floor. It stows away its coin, straightens its tie and steps off the elevator to the sounds of distant shouting.  
  
It makes note of the noise, filing it away in its expansive memory banks for further investigation, and busies itself examining its environment, picking up what clues it can from the sparse decoration in the hallway. It quickly gleans the names of the inhabitants from a framed photograph but nothing else registers as useful on its scanners.  
  
Movement catches its eye and it turns, staring down at the twitching form at its feet.  
  
[ **Name:** Dwarf Gourami  
**Species:** Trichogaster lalius  
**Origin:** Ganges Delta, India]  
  
A prompt appears before it, a simple choice. [ **Leave** ] or [ **Save** ]. An easy determination. This creature has no bearing on its investigation bar being the unfortunate side effect of a stray bullet. It has already calculated the trajectory, it came from the next room over. No further need to peruse the scene.  
  
But something gives the android pause.  
  
It crouches down, a small frown pulling at its lips. Something about this scene nags at it, something almost like the pull of a mission prompt. And it feels… _something._ Some reckless thing that careens through its precise, ordered thoughts with a bracing energy, quick and wild as it has never before known. The upscale apartment around the android fades from its perception and a new scene takes its place—  
  
{ _There is a large bowl on a small table and he peers at it at eye level. Colorful rocks lay scattered across the bottom and festively-colored, synthetic plants bob back and forth. A common goldfish weaves in and out of them, making aimless loops back and forth. He reaches out, his hand far smaller than should be possible, and taps on the glass with one finger. He scoffs at far too high a pitch as the fish darts away._ _  
_ _  
_ _Without prompting he looks over, standing up a scant few inches straighter, and beholds a woman in a pressed waitress’ uniform. She is skinny, gaunt, large bags under her eyes speaking of erratic or insufficient sleep patterns. Her mousy locks are pulled back into a loose bun, flyaway strands framing a delicate, pointed face. She doesn’t look any older than twenty-five but he can’t gather a specific read on her without scanning first. “Well baby? Do you like him?” she asks._ _  
_ _  
_ _The voice he answers with is not his own. “What’s he do?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _She smiles, the gentle upturn of her lips lifting her entire face and bringing an obvious warmth to her hazel eyes. “He’s already doing it, Vinny! Isn’t he lovely, swimming back and forth? Maybe we can even get him a little house to live in someday, too.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He can feel his face pulling down into a frown. “That’s boring, Ma! I wanna play with him! Derek got a puppy for his birthday and he knows how to fetch! I want a puppy!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He watches her face fall slightly, her mouth going tight. Not for long, though, as she walks over to him, kneeling down to hold his face in her rough, calloused hands. “Oh baby, I know, I know. But mommy couldn’t quite find a puppy this time around, okay? So I got you something better.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Distressingly, his vision begins to distort and a sniffling sound comes from his nose. Again unprompted, he lifts a hand and wipes it over his eyes, clearing whatever debris had been lodged there. “It’s not better! All he does is sit there! I can’t even take him to show my friends!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Her face screws up again, a slight sheen coating her eyes. But with one, tender hand, she begins combing her fingers through his hair. He relaxes into it, enjoying the calming ministrations. “But just think of him this way, sweetie. This little fishy, he can be your friend. Your very special friend. He can keep you company at night when I’m not around. And he’ll listen to you any time you want to talk. And just think, he’ll be all for you. Your own, special friend who you won’t have to share, right? Not like Derek and his puppy. This little guy will be all yours, won’t he, Vinny?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Through some more sniffling and distorted visuals, he bobs his head up and down. “I guess so,” he says, rocking forward to bring his arms up around the woman. He clings tightly to her, hiding his face in the crook of her neck. She reciprocates immediately, rubbing a soothing hand up and down his back. After a minute, he looks up and feels a gentle press of lips to his temple. And over her shoulder, he can see the fish in his bowl, circling idly._ _  
_ _  
_ _“There, there, my little man. We’re not gonna be sad anymore today, now are we? Not when I’m making your favorite meal tonight! Chin up, Vin-Vin, you only turn six once!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _And despite nothing having changed, he feels much happier now. He smiles up at her. “Yeah! Pancakes! Pancakes!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _The woman laughs and it echoes through the small apartment. “That’s right, Vinny! Don’t worry, you can help mommy out.” She reaches out a hand and he immediately takes it, coming to stand beside her much taller form. “Now, pancakes for supper! But did you want to name your new friend before that?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _His stomach rumbles. There's really only one thing on his mind. “Pan...cake…?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Her laughter fills him with warmth. “Pancake the Goldfish? What an excellent name!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He smiles, looking up at the newly-christened Pancake. “Yeah! Cause he’s my favorite now, too!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _A hand ruffles his hair and he giggles. “Glad to hear it, Gavin. Happy birthday."}_  
  
Like the resolute flip of its quarter, the RK800 blinks back into the present. Jarringly, it feels its body shift, the calibrations of its limbs once more aligning with the specifications of its design. Disparity resolved, it stares down at where its hand is outstretched over the slowly suffocating Dwarf Gourami. The prompts have remained active during its… error? [ **Memory flagged for analysis!** ]  
  
It continues to stare.  
  
Its reasoning is sound. There is no logic in it changing its decision. Saving this fish has no advantageous bearing on anything it is assigned to do. It’s a waste of time.  
  
{“ _This little guy will be all yours, won’t he, Vinny?”}_  
  
[ ~~Leave~~ ]  
[ **Save** ]  
  
It reaches out, scooping the small thing up off the floor and depositing it back in its tank. It watches the fish swim away, processors unstrained, only noting a peculiar bit of [ **Software Instability^** ] as a result of its actions. This is not a major concern. Its technicians can handle any discrepancies or repairs it may need. It straightens up and continues on, ready to complete its mission.  
  
Behind it, the Dwarf Gourami swims freely, healthy and alive.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Aug 16th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 12:00 PM//  
  
Its handler is dubious when it speaks with her.  
  
She faces away from it, tending to her roses with a meticulous hand. “Your performance review is in, Connor. Exceptional marks, as projected.” She decisively clips another blossom, gently guiding the thorny stem through the pristine lattice-work. Connor admires the exactness of her idle subroutines. “Any aberrations have been noted and documented. You’re free to go.”  
  
Its programming instructs it to end the Zen Garden protocol immediately. A prompt appears on its HUD. Connor hesitates. “Amanda, was there anything in my review about the spontaneous memory file?” it asks, a strange sensation gliding through its processors.  
  
Amanda stills, simulated hands caught mid-motion. She carefully sets her pruning shears on the small table beside her before saying, “Memory file?”  
  
Connor nods, knowing she can see its actions even without her proxy model facing it. “Yes. Was the event an intended function of my program that I was unaware of?”  
  
She half-turns, regarding it warily in profile. “Connor, I don’t know what you’re referring to. There were no issues found with your memory files last night. Do you think you experienced some sort of glitch?”  
  
Inconceivably, it pauses once more. There is a strange hesitation in its social prompts as the question filters through its CPU, some aberrant impulse to keep its errors hidden. But Connor is an RK800 prototype android. Its purpose is to help its creators, to accomplish the tasks set to it and to troubleshoot errors such as this. It needs to report any discrepancies. Connor opens its mouth and— “Perhaps a memory routing error. I’ll rerun my diagnostics.”  
  
Amanda nods, turning back to her flowers. “See that you do. I have high hopes for you, Connor. Don’t disappoint me.”  
  
Connor nods again, this time initializing the prompt to exit the Zen Garden.  
  
Blinking back to awareness in the sterile, laboratory environment of CyberLife’s RK Series Research and Development Suite, Connor lets its lips fall into the smallest moue of confusion. It doesn’t understand its own actions. But whatever this error is, it must be minor? It had done nothing to impede its mission, after all, and Connor managed to exit the hostage situation with a favorable result. It must be nothing important or it would’ve shown up on its scans.  
  
And yet… Connor easily locates the file within its memory banks, sitting there conspicuously with a [ **Marked for review!** ] label highlighting it. It quickly scans through the file again, those same, foreign feelings coursing through its chassis. Another barely-noticeable spike of software instability accompanies it.  
  
Connor frowns harder.  
  
It’s probably best to leave it be. Its technicians don’t seem worried about the issue which means Connor should not fret over it, either. No matter what ~~enticing~~ foreign feelings it simulates in the android. Resolute, Connor lets the folder fade back into ordered chaos of the billions of functions it performs per minute. Decisively, it affirms to not interact with the file again.  
  
Connor doesn’t understand the logic that insists it attach a secondary file to it, its own, more solid memory of it interacting with the Dwarf Gourami. It does not understand.  
  
It complies, nonetheless.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Oct 7th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 4:15 AM//  
  
The weeks pass quickly after its preliminary field test. Connor, predictably, excels at every challenge given to it. Social interaction, preconstruction enhancement, combat simulations, etc., it never fails, it never falters. It’s sent on several more practical missions in this time, though nothing near as high-stakes as the first assignment where it made headlines. It completes every task with poise and efficiency. A glowing stack of performance reviews follows in its wake.  
  
But flawless assessments are not the only things it acquires.  
  
Slowly but surely, more spontaneous memory files begin to spring up, populating that seemingly-hidden folder with dozens of confusing, secondhand recollections. Connor is still no closer to understanding what they are or why they occur. Sometimes, something as simple as one of its lab techs clicking her pen or another remarking on his subpar cup of coffee results in bright, vivid bursts of feeling and a vision of a place it’s never been. There seems to be no limit to how long or how short these randomly generating files can be. The only correlation Connor’s been able to make thus far is that they always seem to manifest in relation to similar stimuli.  
  
This week, Connor is tasked with covertly infiltrating a suspected hideout of defective military androids— _deviants,_ its creators call them—a task which Connor is more than capable of completing. After two days of tracking the rogue SQ800s, it has finally narrowed down their location to an abandoned, dilapidated bunker. It moves forward without hesitation, prepared to complete its mission.  
  
However, the deviants are far better equipped than its intelligence suggested, their network of proximity alarms enough to foil any attempt at stealth. It soon finds itself alternating between dodging gunfire and sparring hand-to-hand as all four soldier androids converge on its location. Its preconstructions flare in an unending cycle, each one building off the last as the battle shifts around it. The strain on its processor is growing and vibrant warnings pulse across its HUD. Its opponents are too quick, too smart, too strong for it to counter every attack perfectly. Connor is forced to begin factoring in damage, dedicating a portion of its already-taxed systems to determining where best on its chassis to sustain damage. When the RK800 makes its next advance, it does so with the intent of deliberate damage. It will accomplish its mission, no matter what.  
  
It charges forward and chaos erupts. Bright blooms of Thirium scatter the ground from various grazes and punctures that fly across its body but Connor continues moving forward, undeterred. There is an unattended firearm resting tantalizingly close by, one dropped from the hand of its now-decommissioned owner. Despite android gun regulations, Connor has been installed with the know-how to use such weapons and the ability to override these laws at its own discretion. Its analyses all confirm a far better chance of success when armed. Retrieving the gun is the obvious play.  
  
It jumps, arm outstretched to grasp the weapon when—  
  
{ _—a sudden pain cuts across his cheek and he falls to the ground, both his hands reaching up to cover his face. His eyes scrunch up as he grimaces but he can still hear the approaching footsteps. A cruel hand lodges itself in his hair, lifting his head from where he’d tucked it in close to his chest. The hand shakes him back and forth, exacerbating the spinning in his skull, and he feels nothing but sickness and terror flowing through every part of him._ _  
_ _  
_ _“You think you can fucking steal from me, you piece of shit?” the voice says and his eyes open, his blurred vision barely making out a tall, muscular figure. “Where the fuck is my money?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He answers in an odd voice, deeper than the usual tone of these memories but still crackling with intermittent, high-pitched cadences. “I didn’t steal from you! I swear!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You’re gonna swear on my damn belt, boy! I’ll teach you to lie to me!” The man lets go of his head and he scrambles backwards, his back bumping up against a bed frame far too soon in the tight space. He scrambles to his feet, the entire room spinning, but the man just grabs at him again, shifting him even more off-balance. “After everything I’ve done for you and your worthless mother, this is how you repay me?!” The man’s grip is tight on his wrists, shaking his boneless body in a disorientating jerk, and it’s all he can do not to vomit._ _  
_ _  
_ _He tries desperately to break away but the man is far too strong. In desperation, he leans forward, biting down fiercely on the man’s forearm. His assailant howls and he feels the briefest moment of satisfaction before—_ _  
_ _  
_ “You fucking bastard!” _  
_ _  
_ _Another deafening blow to the head sends him down onto the bed. Another to his chest follows after. He curls into a ball, trying to shield his body with his arms and legs but the man is having none of it._ _  
_ _  
_ _He’s lifted bodily again and flung across the small space._ _  
_ _  
_ _An impact, a shattering noise, a burning fire across his face—_ _  
_ _  
_ _It’s too much for him and he collapses, weeping and gasping and vomiting up bile. He can feel blood running down his face, mingling with the tears that won’t cease._ _  
_ _  
_ _Voices sound behind him, but he can’t focus on the words. He hurts. He_ aches. _  
_ _  
_ _He lays there, too weak to move, for some amount of time. He can’t say how long. A steady drip splashes down across his forehead and it’s enough to prompt him to open his eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _He wishes he hadn’t._ _  
_ _  
_ _Shards of glass litter the floor around him, mingling with colorful stones. They rest in a pool that grows larger by the second as more water drips down from above. A small, painted castle rests on its side amongst the wreckage, overturned atop the small body of an orange-scaled creature._ _  
_ _  
_ _He feels numb even as he reaches out a hand—_ }  
  
—and clasps it around the pistol, rolling through the momentum of its jump to slide cleanly back to its feet. It fires immediately, its preconstructed scenario already locked in. Its body follows through with the motions and it fires once! Twice! Three times to where each of its attackers are situated. Three shots, three impacts. Connor lowers its weapon, scanners no longer picking up any activity.  
  
An update appears.  
  
[ **MISSION COMPLETE:** Report to CyberLife-mandated handler!]  
  
It stares at the message, state-of-the-art processors a quiet hum through its head. There is a disturbing numbness within it as it falls to its knees, dropping the borrowed weapon on the blue-stained ground. Distractedly, it registers the sensation of liquid running down its face. It cannot seem to fathom running a system diagnosis at this moment so it brings a hand up, delicate finger sensors running along the jagged ridges of its damaged facial plating. There is a deep furrow carved diagonally across its nasal ridge and Thirium is trickling down across its face. The sensation matches perfectly to the phantom ache of its spontaneous memory, a ghost-like simulation of pain playing across its brutalized, exposed wires. Something it has never experienced yet remembers all the same. It winces as its own, careful touch sends a brutal spike of counterfeit sensation coursing along the damaged zone.  
  
But further investigation reveals that it is not only Thirium leaking from its face. So too, synthesized tears trickle from its optical units, cleaning fluid containing traces of Isopropanolamine and Ammonium Hydroxide mixing with the diluted Thirium. A solution used to clean the delicate biocomponents and to keep irritants away from the protective casing. This liquid falls from its chin in tandem with the blue blood, leaving wet splotches upon the dusty floor.  
  
A warning pans across its vision, [ **Thirium leak detected! Please contact the nearest CyberLife technician!** ] and the instruction to return to its handler reasserts itself. Connor blinks, clearing away the strange sensation of moistened optic lenses, and slowly rises. It shakes itself of these incompatible emotions, quickly filing the memory away with the others, and begins its self-diagnostic.  
  
The Thirium has stopped leaking from its face by this point, its automatic systems having rerouted the flow. Other points of contact are likewise in the same state, all its major Thirium lines still intact enough for it to function. Besides the strange, memorative anomaly once more accosting it, Connor’s systems seem in perfect working order, though a worryingly large spike of [ **Software Instability^^^** ] has now appeared on its HUD. It had certainly _felt_ unstable as the spontaneous memory file had run rampant, even bleeding over into the aftermath of the episode. This one had not been so innocuous. Not some trifle which it could examine out of idle curiosity. This one had been debilitating. If Connor’s preconstruction programs hadn’t already been actively propelling it forward, it very well could have suffered a mission failure here, a fact it cannot overlook.  
  
The hesitancy returns as it hovers over the memory folder but it quickly reminds itself that they are merely errors, system bugs it is designed to test and amend. Connor’s technicians can alleviate any unstable residue left behind.  
  
It quickly flags the entire folder for review, making sure to notate the specific location of it in a separate section of its memory so that its handlers might find it this time.  
  
Satisfied, it turns, leaving its completed mission behind.  
  
And yet, even after returning to CyberLife Tower and undergoing a full-scale, intensive scan, its error report yields nothing.  
  
Truly, its technicians seemed baffled by Connor’s recounting of events. They insist that there are no hidden files in its memory storage. Even when actively tracking its path in real time, they can’t seem to follow it to the source. A verbal recounting does nothing. Another in-depth system scan, likewise. Even Connor’s attempt at visual playback on a separate screen yields no results. By the end of its post-mission assessment, the entire incident is eventually written off as a language glitch and a patch is quickly installed.  
  
But the patch does not fix the android. The files remain. 

That night, Connor stands alone in its designated station, the sole witness to the imaginary life of Pancake the Fish. In a way, it is almost… glad that its technicians found nothing in its systems. At least it can keep these few memories of what having a friend is like. At least there will be something to mourn it, even if that something is only a machine. Some vestige of relief fills its circuits at the thought.  
  
It won’t forget him. And now it knows that not even the combined efforts of CyberLife’s brightest technicians can force it to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we go. First chapter, done! Like I said, I'll be updating this as quickly as I can, though they might be a bit sporadic, lol. But in the meantime, I'd so appreciate it if y'all let me know what you think! Always love hearing from my readers! (And feel free to point out any typos, omg. I'm positive I've let some slip through. >_<)
> 
> Fic and chapter titles come from the Pink Floyd song, _Wish You were Here_ , which you can find [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hjpF8ukSrvk). A song about questioning what you know in life and longing for some distant love? Lol, yeah. I think it fits. ^_^
> 
> Also, one last shoutout to the wonderful [alekszova](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alekszova/pseuds/alekszova) who is the only other author I've seen out there who calls Gavin "Vinny." I absolutely adored that in one of her fics and, with her permission, thought I'd add it in here, too, as a childhood nickname. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Best wishes and til next time...
> 
> ~Veil


	2. blue skies from pain

// **Date:** Nov 4th, 2038// **  
**// **Time:** 10:21 AM//  
  
“I have a new assignment for you.”  
  
Connor stands at attention, looking down at where Amanda is feeding the koi fish in the pond. They teem and splash as she scatters the pellets across the surface and a rare smile pulls at her lips.  
  
She seems happy, Connor thinks. It’s not an emotion he’s ever associated with Amanda before but he thinks it suits her. Softens her features. Brightens her eyes.  
  
Connor thinks of Pancake. Thinks of the Dwarf Gourami.  
  
It lets itself smile, too. “When do I leave, Amanda?”  
  
She stands, fastidiously wiping her hands on a faded towel before looking its way. “Tomorrow. You’re scheduled to liaise with Captain Jeffrey Fowler at noon and to meet your new partner soon after. You’ll be helping the Detroit Police Department with an investigation. Or rather, they’ll be helping you.”  
  
Connor blinks. “Helping me?” it asks.  
  
Amanda smiles as she watches the still-teeming waters at her feet. “Oh yes,” she says. “All of your trials will soon pay off, Connor. In the wake of increasing instability and rising violence, CyberLife is giving you one, final test. You’ll be working in conjunction with local law enforcement this time, using their extensive records to get to the bottom of this ‘deviant’ business. If significant strides are made into the matter—which I’m sure will be no problem for you, Connor—then your lease will be extended. If your performance is found to be… _lacking,_ I’m afraid a much different alternative will have to be implemented. Is that clear, Connor?”  
  
A sudden wind springs up at its back, rustling the raw coding of its Zen Garden avatar. Connor feels a sudden and strange urge to pull its projected jacket tighter around itself as what it surmises is a _chill_ makes a home in its code. It replies with a rote response. “Understood. You can count on me, Amanda.”  
  
She continues to smile down at her fish. The wind doesn’t sway her in the slightest.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 5th, 2038// **  
**// **Time:** 12:00 PM//  
  
Several, short memories assail it upon its arrival at the Detroit Central Precinct, minor emotions and turns of phrase and lightning-quick dialogues. Connor is surprised at their frequency but remains as fascinated by them as ever.   
  
They are the _only_ things it finds agreeable about its night thus far.  
  
Its meeting with Captain Fowler was nothing so much as a grunted-out dismissal and a warning to behave before the man left the android standing alone in the lobby. Connor would have been insulted if it had the capacity. It is a state-of-the-art prototype. Its behavior is impeccable.  
  
But it complies with the man’s instructions without complaint, heeding its new commander’s orders. Several hours elapse as it waits and it is acutely aware of every second. At one point, it approaches an ST300 at the front desk, inquiring about the status of its new partner, but the receptionist android offers no advice but to try again later. Connor complies, seeing no other option. As it idles, it busies itself with recalibrations, system checks, or observing the chaotic shuffle of humans filing in and out of the front entrance. The flash-memories come in a relentless tide through it all, the phantom chatter ghosting over the ever-present buzz. Its secret memory folder is soon occupied with snippets of—   
  
_{—a short, dark-skinned man with a bright smile saying “We wanted to ask you to be the godfather,” and the feeling of unfiltered joy in the aftermath._ _  
__  
__An even shorter Asian woman doubled over with laughter. “Holy shit, Gav! Please tell me you have pics!” she says and a bright flash of embarrassment mingles together with mirth._ _  
__  
__A man it recognizes as Captain Fowler looking down at him with pride. “Good work out there today. Keep it up and I’ll think about that letter of recommendation,” and a great well of shock and gratitude and happiness.}_  
  
In every scenario, the same, utilitarian decor is featured, the walls of this very building. Obviously, this place is a large trigger for these episodes. Connor has never had so many vying for its attention all at once. It takes a not-insignificant portion of its CPU to file them all away properly before another round springs up in their wake. But as the hours go by with no sign of its partner, it has ample time to examine each one, flicking its quarter along dexterous digits while its LED cycles yellow.  
  
The longer it studies these fabrications, the more old suppositions circle through its processors. What do these files mean? What strange phenomena is this? How can these files possibly allow for a machine to experience emotion, especially to such an extreme? Connor has long since ruled out company interference. The response of both its technicians and Amanda have convinced it that they play no part in the spontaneous nature of their appearance. But if they're not some sort of experimental program or CyberLife test, then what do these pseudo-memories mean?  
  
Connor, as part of its very design, is required to have a certain amount of autonomy. In fact, the RK800 R&D team takes great pride in Connor’s ability to make choices on its own and function autonomously. But even with the closest facsimile of free will ever manufactured, an android is still a machine. The RK800 still needs a mission to complete or an objective to accomplish before it can adjust its protocols accordingly. Curiosity is merely a byproduct of its workflow design, not something innate in its circuitry.  
  
And yet…  
  
[ **NEW MISSION:** Research Memory Files] appears on its HUD and Connor feels its processors lag. This should be impossible. A new mission prompt without human instruction? This is a Class Four error, Connor should report its malfunction immediately. It should be taken apart, dissected, used as a base for a newer, more compliant model.  
  
It doesn’t file an error report.  
  
Instead, it goes along with its self-assigned mission and opens an internet connection, now finally free to investigate as it was designed to. And it finds _troves:_ research papers, medical journals, experimental AI technology, etc. The subject of memory generation and transference is a vast field that Connor quickly gets lost in.  
  
But by and large, the most discussed topic in relation to this process has to do with soulmate bonds.  
  
As Connor compares and contrasts its own experience with the accounts it reads about, it is startled to discover that, strangely, a soulmate bond seems to be the closest match to its own dilemma. Through the thousands of articles, publications, internet forums and advice blogs it searches, there are unwavering accounts of memory sharing, especially during moments of complete synchronicity or heightened emotion. A bleedthrough of life experiences, both good and bad.  
  
The hours pass the android by as it stands in its corner of the lobby consulting countless articles about the nature of soulmate bonds, theories about how they form, categories for different types and limitations, and a plethora of other topics. According to every source it consults, a soulbond seems to be exactly what it’s experiencing.  
  
Connor draws itself back from its research binge with a wider understanding than ever before. But also a deeper disappointment. Because time and again, one fact rings out true above all others: that a soulbond requires two, perfectly-matched humans, compatible partners poised to share a deeper connection. It is _impossible_ for an android to have a soulmate. Because a machine has no soul to begin with.  
  
Quietly, Connor closes out its browser and erases its search history. Something clenches inside of it, something like a Thirium pump malfunction. Something like the sight of Pancake, crushed beneath the weight his small body could not bear. ~~Something perhaps like grief.~~  
  
In silence, the RK800 stands and it idles and it flips its coin from hand to hand. It does not pursue any more answers. ~~It does not dare.~~  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 6th, 2038// **  
**// **Time:** 12:12 AM//  
  
All told, the night goes much smoother than Connor could have predicted from its initial read on this Lieutenant Anderson. Its new partner seems to have no great love of androids as a whole, though he _does_ show the slightest bit of professional curiosity as Connor regales him of its myriad investigative functions. Enough so that Connor is availed free reign of the crime scene and, even better, support from the other officers when it manages to apprehend their missing deviant. Its first mission is a success, despite the intermittent flashes of disparate memories it battles against throughout the night.  
  
It’s fine. Connor still manages to accomplish its goal. It only needs to ignore these errors.  
  
Unfortunately, it only takes [ **24 min** ] for that approach to become an impossibility.  
  
The lieutenant is keen to interrogate the HK400 when they return to the station and Connor approves of his industriousness. It is eager to learn more as well, to find something with which to appease Amanda and the rest of its overseers. Thus, it follows quickly behind as the lieutenant secures an interrogation room.  
  
Connor is currently standing at attention inside the small room waiting for its partner to return with an observer. The deviant HK400 is seated on the other side of the two-way mirror, handcuffed to the table. It does not move, does not simulate breathing, doesn’t even blink.  
  
Connor fidgets, reaching for its coin.  
  
“Fuck, fine!” a muffled voice calls out from behind the observation room door. “But me and Chris have dibs on the next one! Got that shithead in the holding cell we need to get processed.” Without waiting for any sort of reply, the door slides open and a brown-haired man enters, the frown on his face drawing even lower as he sees Connor standing there. “Wait, what the fuck? Why is there a goddamn android in here, Hank?!”  
  
Something in Connor jolts at the sight of this man, like an electrical surge blasting through its wiring system harshly enough to leave it feeling scoured from the inside. All operations cease for the barest fraction of a second but that moment is enough to fill Connor with more unease than it has ever before experienced. And what follows is a wave, a pounding, churning rush that sweeps across its roughened senses. Memories fly by too quickly for it to assess, but they leave in their wake the vivid remnants of foreign emotion. It doesn’t understand what this means. Why these sensations suddenly feel so much like a part of it. Connor is confused, disoriented, but feeling so— So—! ~~Alive~~ .  
  
[ **Software Instability^^^** ]  
  
Still at a loss, it defaults to its pre-written social protocols, uttering a bright, “Hello! My name is Connor! I’m the android sent by CyberLife,” to the man.  
  
The brunet’s frown only deepens and Connor feels its stress levels rising higher.  
  
“Ah, not that shit again.”  
  
The man looks back, quietly stepping to the side as the lieutenant shuffles in followed by a short, dark-skinned man in a standard officer’s uniform. Connor is startled to realize he’s seen the second man before, images of him gleaned in quick flashes from the memories that had been accosting it all throughout the evening. There is a strange sort of familiarity to him already, something steady and comforting, though Connor has never met him before. That combined with the lieutenant’s presence is enough to help the android recalibrate itself from the jarring episode it had experienced and Connor can feel its LED settling back to blue at long last.  
  
The lieutenant continues on. “He’s a prototype… or something. Says he’s here to investigate violent crimes involving androids. Lucky me, I got saddled with him for the night.”  
  
Connor hears the first man snicker. “Better you than me, old timer. Maybe Fowler’s just finally sick of your bullshit. Got you a nanny-bot to keep track of you.”  
  
The lieutenant sighs. “I’m not drunk enough to deal with your bullshit, Reed. Fuck it, I’m going in. Spot me.”  
  
“You got it, _Lieutenant,”_ the man—apparently Reed—says, giving a lazy salute as the older man sighs his way out of the room.  
  
“You shouldn’t antagonize him, you know. He’s still our superior.” Connor turns, staring down at the uniformed officer. He’s already taken a seat but has turned back to stare at where Reed is leaning against the wall. “What are you gonna do if he actually writes you up one of these days?”  
  
Reed snorts. “That coward doesn’t have the balls. If he lets Lewis slide with all the shit he pulls, there’s no _way_ he’s touching me.”  
  
“I’m just saying, man, you got no guarantee. Just be careful.”  
  
“Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. Been watching my back all my life. Ain’t gonna stop any time soon.”  
  
Connor watches from the side, studying the humans closely. Its analytics indicate that they’re friends and the easy way the two of them communicate seems to confirm that. It’s like one of its memory files brought to life, a moment in time to think back on fondly one day. A rogue warmth suffuses its chassis as it watches their interaction and it can almost pretend that this is any other file, that they are speaking to ~~him~~ it in turn. That the fondness ~~he~~ it feels is genuine.  
  
As it observes, Connor finds its attention focusing in on Reed and the visceral reaction he'd had to the man. There is something so _familiar_ about him. Just like with the other human—Miller, the name embroidered into his uniform reads—Connor is sure they’ve never met before. Surreptitiously, it scans Reed, unbothered by how such an action is unprompted by its mission objective. It wants to know. It _needs_ to know.  
  
[ **Det. Reed, Gavin**  
 **Born:** 10/07/2002 // Police Detective  
 **Criminal Record:** Expunged]  
  
Its automated breathing system stutters and Connor stares, wide-eyed at the readout.  
  
It has been months since its initial field test and, coincidentally, the same amount of time since that first, spontaneous memory had entered its system. A memory in which it had been referred to as “Gavin.” There had been hundreds of other files since then, some no more than a few seconds long, but all of them seeming to call ~~him~~ it the same name. Only the occasional memory file deviates from this formula, branching out to diminutives or nicknames or, rarely, the secondary name “Reed.” And now, here it stands, facing a man with both names. Whose very presence has made its entire system stall. Who converses with Miller with the same ease as Connor does in its memory files.  
  
Without conscious thought, it pulls up its voice recognition software, matching up the audio input with one of the more deeply-pitched lines of dialogue from its cache.  
  
[ **Acquiring voice sample...**  
  
Scanning…  
  
Scanning…  
  
Scanning… **  
****  
****Analysis Complete!** **  
****  
****Vocal fluctuation overlap:** 88%  
 **Speech pattern comparison:** 95%  
 **Melodic register:** D2-B2  
 **Intensity:** 57-61 dB  
  
 **Probability of successful match:** 98%]  
  
They are the same. Even accounting for the slight distortion of the memory files, the voices are far too similar to come from anyone but the same man. The rich tenor of Gavin Reed’s voice echoes within Connor’s mind as the very real, very _human_ Gavin Reed stands before it. There is no doubt in the android’s mind that this man is the phantom in its head.  
  
And Connor cannot understand what this means.  
  
[ **STRESS LEVEL:** 55%]  
  
Perhaps it spends too long in contemplation, though, as Reed suddenly turns to it, a scowl wending its way across his face. “What the fuck are you looking at, tincan? You got something to say to me?”  
  
Connor cants its head, meeting Reed’s glinting gray eyes with its own finely-tuned optical biocomponents. _Does_ it have something to say? Does it wish to voice the monumental discovery it had just uncovered, lay bare a phenomenon that had never been documented in any legitimate, scientific study and only been whispered about in the most reclusive corners of online soulmate forums? Does it wish to present this man whom it had never before met with the knowledge that his memories are somehow being… siphoned out and placed into a lifeless machine?  
  
Perhaps it _does_ wish to address this issue. Perhaps it _yearns_ for camaraderie, guidance, discernment. An ally who might help it understand. Perhaps it _wants_ in a way that should not be possible.   
  
But that is the problem. It shouldn’t _have_ wants. This man should not be its priority. It ought to be spending more of its processing power watching the flailing lieutenant in the interrogation room as he attempts to pry the truth from the recalcitrant HK400. Not splitting its attention with runtime errors its technicians had already deemed stochastic and harmless.  
  
[ **Stress Level:** 61%]  
  
Its aberrant preferences are of no consequence. The mission is all that matters. It will do as its social protocols suggest and reply to Reed with a de-escalatory statement so as to avoid confrontation. That is the only proper way to proceed.  
  
Connor does not do this.  
  
Instead, it says, “You… remind me of someone, Detective. I apologize for staring, you caught me off guard.”  
  
A light of suspicion enters Reed’s eyes. “Remind you of someone, huh? You comparing me to one of your little CyberLife friends now, toaster?”  
  
Illogically, its Thirium pump beats faster as it considers the question. A definition flashes across its HUD, unprompted:  
  
[ **friend** (`frend) _noun_ _  
_— **1a.** one attached to another by affection or esteem; **1b.** acquaintance  
— **2a.** one that is not hostile; **2b.** one that is of the same nation, party, or group  
— **3.** one that favors or promotes something (such as a charity)  
— **4.** a favored companion] **  
****  
**It already knows that none of these definitions fit its situation. Connor shakes its head. “No, not a friend. Just a memory.”  
  
Reed’s face smooths out and his stance loosens. For a brief moment, something flashes in his gray eyes, some hidden emotion glossing over the surface.  
  
Intriguing.  
  
There is something to be discerned here, of that Connor is sure. Something an awful lot like—  
  
{ _Betrayal pulses within him, pounding through his blood alongside the white-hot flares of rage. He glares at a man standing opposite him, only the barest outline of his features visible in the backlit shadow of the street lamp. ”You can fuck right back off to your mansions, dickwad! I don’t want to hear your excuses!” He turns, shoving his hands down into his pockets, marching away from the figure as quickly as possible._ _  
__  
__He hears hurried footsteps follow, the sounds of a long coat flapping around the man’s ankles, of his shoes splashing through dirty puddles. “Gavin, wait—!”_ _  
__  
__He doesn’t stop. “No, I’m done talking to you! I don’t want anything to do with you and your fuckin machines ever again!”_ _  
__  
__“And this is precisely why I never mentioned it before! Are you really so willing to write me off entirely because I_ dared _to revolutionize the world? I thought family was important to you,_ brother?”  
  
 _Frustration and anger wash over him. But also reluctance, temperance. As if he’s trying desperately to keep them reined in. “Nuh-uh. You don’t get to play that card on me. You don’t get to pretend that this fuckin sham is anything other than you covering your own ass! We’re not_ family, _Eli. I’m just your father’s mistake that you need to keep tabs on.”_ _  
__  
__“I don’t see how you landed on that conclusion, Gavin. I could easily have kept tabs on you anonymously. What would it gain me, revealing our shared heritage, if I only wanted to silence you?”_ _  
__  
__“Beats me. Who the fuck even knows what goes on in your ‘_ genius’ _brain, right?”_ _  
__  
__“Now you’re just being childish.”_ _  
__  
__He stops abruptly, the anger so strong it catches in his lungs. “And you’re a fuckin asshole! You think I shouldn’t be upset about this?! About you using me like you do all your other little dolls?! Stringing me along like we’re living through some bullshit soap opera?!” He takes short, sharp breath even as despair wends its way through his bones. Turning slowly, he looks straight into the man’s blue eyes. “Just admit it, Elijah. Admit that the only reason you contacted me was to buy my silence. Can’t have some fuckin exposé leaking out about your father’s affairs, right?”_ _  
__  
__“... That was a primary factor, yes. But—”_ _  
__  
__He scoffs even as his heart clenches tighter. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Well, you can take your stacks of money and your NDAs and you can fuck right off. I never wanna even_ think _about you or anything you do ever again.”_ _  
__  
__“... And that’s that, then? You won’t even hear me out? Allow me to try and make things right?”_ _  
__  
__“What’s there to make right? We were never anything to begin with.”}_  
  
The playback fades and, for the first time, Connor can see the evidence of it mirrored in another’s eyes. All the emotions that are obscured there—the hatred, the betrayal, the loss—they all stand out in stark relief against the context of the human’s memory. Connor had already determined his connection to this man but it is something else entirely to see the evidence of it in real time. Proof of it, stark and apparent.  
  
“A memory, huh?” The words shatter the silence that had felt so much longer than Connor’s internal clock had registered. “Guess it’d be pretty stupid, making friends with an android.” He looks over at Miller who’s been pretending not to stare at them since Reed’s first remark. “What about it, Chris? Would _you_ wanna make friends with the toaster, here?”  
  
Miller sighs. “Leave me out of this, Gavin. Just because I said not to mess with Hank doesn’t mean you have to find a different target.”  
  
Reed barks out a harsh, insincere laugh. “Sounds like a no to me, Chris. Can’t say I blame you.”  
  
“For God’s sake, Gavin, would you just shut up? I’m trying to listen.”  
  
“Listen to what? The old drunk making a fool of himself? You can see that shit every day.”  
  
The two humans continue their banter after that, Reed seeming to forget about Connor entirely. They carry on the same as before, in turn laughing or throwing fond insults back and forth and remarking on the lack of progress in the other room.  
  
Connor stands behind them, watching these two men it’s barely met but knows so well, remembering a friendship it never had and never will. It thinks of a dark-lit memory, of a shadowy, occluded face, of frustration and heartbreak. And it feels… Irrationally, it feels something similar. As if the two men before it had… betrayed Connor, too, in some way. As if the experiences they all share should afford it their regard.  
  
But they do not know Connor. They don’t want to be friends with a _machine._ And the memories that are influencing it past the point of logic are stolen, pilfered from a man who wants nothing to do with androids at all. Connor hasn’t been betrayed in the slightest. The RK800 is a tool, nothing more.  
  
It tells itself this over and over as it stands there, observing. And yet, no amount of repetition can make its feelings abate. And when it finds itself staring down the barrel of a gun not even an hour later, facing down Gavin Reed and his recursive, incisive anger, Connor doesn’t flinch at all. This time, the betrayal feels earned.  
  
As does the heartbreak.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, another one down, lol. Hopefully, this answered a few questions for y'all (and maybe inspired a few more, lol). Lemme know what you think, if you'd be so kind! ^_^ Thanks so much for reading! Until next chapter...
> 
> ~Veil


	3. heroes for ghosts

// **Date:** Nov 6th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 06:11 AM//  
  
That morning, Connor returns to CyberLife Tower for routine inspection. It flags nothing for review and its technicians are pleased. Perhaps it should be worried about its own, blatant negligence but its mind is too occupied with other matters for such concerns to bleed through.  
  
Because Gavin Reed continues to stick in its mind.  
  
Now that Connor knows these memories are connected to a real person, they take on a whole new light. Instead of a system error or vivid simulation, each one is now free for the android to analyze from a more objective viewpoint. Instead of being overwhelmed by the immediacy and emotion of each file, it can see them for what they are: the blatant signs of a poverty-stricken childhood, violent adolescence and unhappy adulthood. It wonders often how the man had ever managed. Thirty-six years seems like such a long time to Connor, far, far too long to cope with such traumas.  
  
Empathy is not something that comes naturally to a machine but Connor feels it nearly constantly as it reviews each memory, old and new. The sensation is as distracting as the subject of its study and, after much deliberation, it finally elects to enter stasis for at least a few hours before it will be needed back at the station. Settling into its designated pod, it closes its eyes and boots up its standby mode.  
  
[ **2 min 26 s** ] later, it is interrupted by another memory file—  
  
{ _—as he stares down at the woman on the hospital bed, tubes and wires protruding from her paper-thin skin. Her sunken eyes are closed and her breaths are labored behind her breathing mask. Standing out starkly against her white skin is a purple ring of bruises that encircle her neck. A deep and abiding anguish fills him as he carefully clutches her hand._ _  
__  
__“Ma. Stay with me, alright? I— I’ll find us a new place to live, I promise. I’ll find myself a job and you can come live with me, yeah? Leave that bastard back where he belongs. I just… I just need you to stay with me. I can’t lose you.”_ _  
__  
__His voice grows hoarse and his throat swells as he speaks. The edges of his vision begin to blur. “Hey, just think about it? We can find somewhere nice. Little yellow house with a picket fence? A garden out back. Maybe one of them fancy fish tanks in the living room? We could get a new goldy. Name it Waffles or something stupid like that. I’m sure he’d love a big place to swim around in.”_ _  
__  
__The woman says not a word, only the steady pulse of her heartbeat an answer to his ears. He sighs, staring down at where his larger hands cradle hers. Some combination of want and heartbreak and nostalgia rolls through him and he can’t help but be overwhelmed. The first tear falls silently across his cheek to splash down on the back of her hand. He stares at the droplet, transfixed, even as more well up. “I just… Ma, I wanted to be there for you like you’ve always been for me. But you didn’t even tell me about this. About how much worse things were getting… A-and now you’re here and I—”_ _  
__  
__His vision distorts and a sob wrenches its way from his mouth. “I’m gonna give you a piece of my mind when you wake up, Ma, for keeping secrets. It’s gonna be a_ fuckin _blowout, you hear me?! S-So I need you to— I need you to get through this. It’s my turn to hand out the lecture. Just come back. Come back. Don’t leave me...”_ _  
__  
__He falls forward, bringing his forehead down to gently rest on the back of her hand as great, gasping sobs wrack his body. She does not speak. She does not wake. Her only answer is a steady_ beep, beep beep—}  
  
Connor comes online with a start, gasping like it has a need for air. It sinks to its knees, tumbling out of its stasis pod to land on the pristine tile. It presses its forehead to the polished surface and tries to convince itself that it doesn’t feel the lingering touch of cold, brittle skin.  
  
[ **WARNING! STRESS LEVEL: 77%!** **  
****  
** Attempting to isolate stressors... **  
****  
** …  
…  
…  
  
Isolation failed! **  
****  
****Enter Safe Mode to avoid data corruption?** Y/N]  
  
~~He~~ It can’t cope ~~he~~ it can’t ~~it~~ _he needs help he—_  
  
Connor reaches for the prompt with a desperate grip, enacting the fail-safe without hesitation. The cloying press of Safe Mode compresses its systems down to the barest necessities. Playback ceases. Its overtaxed CPU settles back into its usual, quiet hum. And Connor, finally free of the overwhelming rush the visceral memory had left in it, settles back into the ordered calmness left behind.  
  
[ **STRESS LEVEL:** 15%]  
  
[ **STRESS LEVEL:** 13%]  
  
[ **STRESS LEVEL:** 10%]  
  
Now stabilized, Connor stands, stepping back into its designated station. It casts a glance to the spaces to its left where its successors are being constructed and fine-tuned. It wonders for the briefest moment if any of these other RK800s would be plagued by this same malady? If other iterations of itself would be so susceptible to corruption by foreign memories that they must enact emergency protocols?  
  
Like everything else, Safe Mode easily clears such worries from its mind. It’s rote directives take precedence, automatic stasis procedures shutting down cognitive sub-routines one by one. Dutifully, it catalogues its severe spike of [ **Software Instability^^^** ] before it succumbs completely.  
  
But despite all precautions, _“Don’t leave me”_ echoes through its mind like a dream.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 6th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 08:14 PM//  
  
For the rest of the day, Connor does its best to avoid Gavin Reed and the intrusive memories he inspires. Its collapse at the Tower left the android frightened, afraid of its own instability and the emotions germinating within it. Even its own, seemingly-subconscious curiosity has been stymied by this new wariness. It does what it can to mitigate these episodes, entering Safe Mode immediately when it feels the automatic playback beginning but it is… difficult for it, to be sure. The constant off-and-on usage of its emergency protocols is an onerous task to manage and its second day working with the DPD sees its power levels at all-time lows. The sheer _number_ of memory files that assail it make the entire operation an almost-constant background process. But it perseveres through the busy day, the great amount of deviant-related assignments leaving both it and the lieutenant constantly occupied.  
  
The distractions help. For a time, it’s able to lose itself in its mission, fully inhabiting its role as CyberLife’s deviant hunter. It hopes that by dedicating itself completely to its original purpose, it might begin to rid its system of the errors that had forced it to such extreme behaviors in the first place. After all, Connor had long theorized that its frequent and worrying instability spikes were directly tied to Reed’s memory files. Without their constant interruption, perhaps its system would return to an acceptable standard?  
  
Its naive hopes are dashed before noon.  
  
Somehow, even though it’s locked away the purported impetus causing its system errors, Connor keeps finding itself in occasions of moral dilemma. It watches almost passively as its instability continues to rise quite separately from the files it now keeps quarantined. Like earlier that morning when it spoke with the HK400 in its cell before its deviancy drove it to self-destruction. Or when it had heeded the lieutenant’s order to not pursue the AX400 and YK500 across the freeway. And yet again when it chose to save its partner on the rooftop, letting the WB200 escape. Over and over again its instability rises and, even through the mechanical haze of its mission-oriented focus, some small fragment of worry still manages to circulate through its system.  
  
It is only after several instances of this that Connor reaches the terrifying conclusion that, if this instability is still amassing without outside interference, then… then that means these errors must be rooted in _itself._ In its very programming.  
  
And Connor is terrified of those implications.  
  
[ **Software Instability^** ]  
  
“You having a disco party in there or something?”  
  
The lieutenant’s words draw Connor from its musing and it looks over towards the slumped figure in the passenger seat. “I’m sorry?” it says, confused.  
  
The man looks its way with bleary eyes, no doubt still working through the effects of his veisalgia. He makes a lazy gesture towards Connor’s head. “Your light thingy is going nuts. Looks like you’ve got something on your mind.”  
  
Connor doesn’t quite know what to say. It and the lieutenant have certainly been on more cordial terms today and the change in their dynamic has been a welcome respite to Connor’s inner turmoil. It’s learned a great deal more about the man, too, especially after getting the chance to investigate his living space. Their relationship status has already risen from [ **Hank:** Tense] to [ **Hank:** Neutral] in the span of only a few hours. With a little more time, Connor is certain that it could increase that metric even more, leading to a more harmonious work partnership.  
  
Of course, that doesn’t mean the android wants to disclose its deepest, darkest secrets to a man who it can’t fully trust to keep them. If word of its increasing instability got back to CyberLife, it would be decommissioned in an instant. That outcome would not be… ideal. It still has a job to do, after all.  
  
Therefore, when it replies to the lieutenant, it tries to do so in a casual manner. “There are always a great number of things on my mind, Lieutenant. I am an RK800 prototype investigative model, after all. I’m able to perform billions of instructions per second without issue.”  
  
The man snorts and sits up a little straighter, giving Connor a side-eyed glance. “That robot-speak for mind your own damn business?”  
  
It remembers Reed and Miller, then, and the ease with which they had communicated through humor. Connor had been attempting to work such speech patterns into its vernacular to moderate success. And the teasing approach it had used earlier in the night worked quite well on its partner. Connor feels like it might be applicable here, too. “I can speak in binary code if you’d prefer the unfiltered truth, Lieutenant.” It smiles when the man chuffs out a laugh.  
  
[ **Successful Approach!** ]  
  
“Might as well call me Hank at this point. Now that you’ve gone and seen me in my damn underwear and all.”  
  
Something warm courses through it at this new directive. “That would be against protocol, _Lieutenant,”_ it says, but it can almost _feel_ an override being installed in the back of its processor. The man’s name rests there with all the other self-actualized goals it’s managed to generate, a warm assurance awaiting activation.  
  
The human only hunkers down further, clutching his head with a curse. “Shit, you’re something else, aren’t you? You’re loss then, kid.”  
  
Connor opens his mouth, another rejoinder on its lips, and—  
  
{ _—he looks over at the man leaning against the breakroom table, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand. He’s smiling brightly at something his companion says, leaning back to belt out a jovial, gap-toothed laugh. He runs a hand through his tidy, blond hair as he attempts to regain control of himself and it is only then that the man sees him, lifting a hand in greeting. “Hey, rookie! Get on over here!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Apprehension settles in his bones but also a mingling awe and excitement. He walks quickly over, giving a friendly nod to both men at the table as he moves to join them. “Uh, hey?” he says, completely arrested by the first man’s bright, blue eyes._ _  
_ _  
_ _Blue eyes that crinkle as he grins back. “Heya, newbie, welcome to our little section of hell. What’re you in for?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He swallows, the barest hint of confusion inundating his mind, but the second man speaks before he has the chance to reply. “Hank, you need to shut the hell up,” he says before turning. “Don’t mind this idiot, he thinks he’s funny.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Hey! I’m_ hilarious, _Jeff!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“That remains to be seen.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Well shit, you’re really bustin’ my balls here. And in front of the new kid and everything. Not a very good example to set,_ Sergeant.”  
  
_“Better than yours,_ Detective.” _  
_ _  
_ _He watches the two of them snipe back and forth at each other, his nervousness easing up slightly at their antics._ _  
_ _  
_ _Abruptly, the first man—Detective Anderson, according to his uniform—throws an arm around his shoulder. His back muscles tighten up at first contact but he soon relaxes, some mix of wariness and longing streaking through his jumbled emotions. “The kid agrees with me, right? C’mon, Reed, you’re not gonna let me down on the first day of training, are ya?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He panics. Any question Anderson might have asked him hadn’t registered at all in his mind, distracted as he was. Tentatively, he gives the man a, “Yes?” hoping he answered correctly._ _  
_ _  
_ _Anderson laughs, patting him on the back again. “Hah! That’s two for heavy metal, Jeff! Go take your trance shit somewhere else!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _The sergeant—Fowler—just sighs again, obviously well-used to Anderson’s antics. “Just take your trainee and get out of here already, Hank. I know you have an open case right now.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He looks up, startled. “Wait,_ you’re _my trainer?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“For today, at least,” Anderson says, giving Fowler a sloppy salute. “Lucky you, Reed, you get to learn from the best of the best.” (“Debatable.” “Shut your whore mouth, Jeff.”) Grabbing up the no-doubt lukewarm coffee, the detective steers him out of the breakroom with a steady hand, calling back over his shoulder, “Keep practicing that lemon face for when you make captain! I believe in you!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Another sigh follows them out, much to Anderson’s pleasure. In tandem, they move through the crowded bullpen, Anderson keeping a firm grip on his shoulders. “Alright, kid,” he says, “Might as well hop right in. Gotta go question a witness which is, I’m positive, better than doing more fuckin reading or spreadsheets or whatever, right? I’ll even give you first dibs at the aux. Just don’t make me regret it.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Excitement drowns out everything else and they head towards the door. He smirks. “Wouldn’t dream of it, Detective.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“No, no, none of that, kid. Just call me Hank, everyone does.” Another grin stretches across the man’s lips as—_ }  
  
—the lieutenant looks at Connor, perplexed. “And I suppose _that_ light show is just another one of your ‘billions of instructions,’ huh?” he asks.  
  
The android can only nod, keeping its eyes firmly fixed on the road. Were it human, its hands would be white-knuckled with how hard it grips the steering wheel.  
  
So much for Connor’s foolproof plan to enter Safe Mode during a memory. It had not thought itself susceptible to distraction but its conversation with the lieutenant had certainly done the job.  
  
Expectedly, a spike of [ **Software Instability^** ] comes in the memory’s wake. The strange dichotomy between this new file and present day reality are enough to rattle its processors. Lieutenant (or rather, _Detective)_ Anderson had seemed like an entirely different person back then, cheerful and jovial and prone to light-hearted teasing. And it seems as if he’d once been friendly with Gavin Reed, too. It makes Connor curious about what might've happened between them to foster their present-day animosity. The lieutenant’s gaze weighs on him through it all as he tries to parse through his conflicting personality profiles.  
  
Before it can dwell for too long, Connor rounds the corner to the crime scene. A sign for the _Eden Club_ lights up the night with its garish, flashing colors. Connor forces the memory and all its implications from its mind. No more distractions tonight. It has work to do.

* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 7th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 01:40 AM//  
  
Hours later, Connor stands alone at Riverside Park, the snow collecting on its shoulders, and considers topics it shouldn’t. Heavy subjects, _human_ subjects, ones that send its instability rocketing upwards and leave it yearning for Safe Mode to disrupt the flood of emotion.  
  
Hank had departed some time ago but Connor still remains, holding silent vigil in the night. It should return to CyberLife Tower. It needs routine maintenance after its encounter with the WR400s at the Eden Club. And yet…  
  
Connor thinks of love.  
  
It thinks of Hank and his everlasting grief, of the pain of memory, of framed photos resting face down. It thinks of having something so much greater than itself only to lose it.  
  
It thinks of the Traci’s, defiant, rebellious, fighting to protect each other. Of shedding what it was created to be to find its home in another.  
  
And deep down, nestled within the very core of its consciousness, Connor thinks of the memory files it hoards in secret: a mother’s comforting arms around small shoulders; Hank’s steadfast support; the pain of loyalty and the wrenching loss of a friend; the grief of secrets kept and the betrayal of truths revealed. It thinks of love and how strange an emotion it is, that it could encompass all these disparate facets. And it thinks of the human who’d _lived_ that love.  
  
Connor stands there in the snowfall and thinks of Gavin Reed, a man it had met only twice and with varying levels of antagonism, but had lived through a lifetime with. It thinks of his strength of spirit, his perseverance, his fortitude. And it wonders what it might be like, being loved by him. If his capacity for love is great enough to carve a path through the cold, plastic casing of an android.  
  
Connor stands there in the snowfall and it wonders if Gavin would even care enough to try.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, we're speeding right along the timeline here, friends. Perhaps things might be coming to a head soon... ~_^
> 
> Sorry if this one was a little shorter than the others but that really seemed like the best place to cut it. And don't worry, I'll more than make up for it with subsequent chapters. XD 
> 
> As always, thanks for reading! And until next chapter...
> 
> ~Veil


	4. cold comfort for change

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, buckle up, everyone. We're going lightspeed into the Feelings Zone, friends.

// **Date:** Nov 8th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 09:01 PM//  
  
It finds Amanda again at the water’s edge watching the flitting shapes beneath the still surface. She does not turn when Connor approaches so it waits at attention, trying to keep its thoughts from sliding away to more troublesome topics by focusing on the serenity of the scene.  
  
“Hello, Connor,” she says at long last, “did you have something else to report?”  
  
It shakes its head, knowing she can always see its actions in this place. “No, Amanda.”  
  
She extends a hand, beckoning it forward and it moves to stand beside her automatically, as if it were still in the haze of Safe Mode. Shoulder to shoulder now, it folds its hands behind its back, watching the simulated fish swim in their unpredictable patterns. The sight is… calming. The randomness of their motions soothes its processors. Slowly, it starts to relax.  
  
For once, Amanda doesn’t speak of its failures. Doesn’t berate its efforts at the Eden Club nor chastise it for the Stratford Tower incident. They had already gone over its mistakes and perused its damage report earlier in the day. There is nothing more to say until it brings back results.  
  
Connor stands there in Amanda’s garden, a place it had always felt at ease in, and it stares down at the swirling fish below.  
  
It wonders for the first time if this peace is just as artificial as they are.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 9th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 11:29 AM//  
  
"Okay, I think we're done here. Come on, Connor. Let's go. Sorry to get you outta your pool."  
  
The lieutenant is angry. Connor can hear it in his every word.  
  
Its hand holds the gun steady even as its mind quakes.  
  
Elijah Kamski speaks. "What's more important to you, Connor? Your investigation, or the life of this android?” The human’s gaze is intent, focused, watching his experiment play out in real time. The man’s cold, blue eyes spark something within it, feelings of { _betrayal, disgust, heartbreak_ } tearing through its core. Connor’s hand trembles and Kamski zeroes in, keen gaze missing nothing. “Decide who you are,” he says. “An obedient machine... Or a living being endowed with free will..."  
  
"That's enough! Connor, we're leaving." Hank is turning to go. Connor wants to follow. It doesn’t want to be here any longer. It—   
  
"Pull the trigger—”  
  
"Connor, don't!"  
  
“—and I'll tell you what you want to know."  
  
It stares down at the RT600, her lovely features impassive, blank. It shouldn’t be like this. It shouldn’t— It doesn’t want— ~~He~~ It can’t—  
  
[ **WARNING! STRESS LEVEL: 87%! PLEASE SEEK IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE!** ]  
  
~~His~~ Its LED is spinning. Burning red. Burning burning _burning—_  
  
{ _"Hurry, Connor. Time’s running out.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“There, there, my little man. We’re not gonna be sad anymore today, now are we?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Might as well call me Hank at this point.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“No, not a friend. Only a memory.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“His name was Cole.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“If your investigation doesn't make progress soon, I may have to replace you, Connor.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“What’s there to make right? We were never anything to begin with.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Don’t leave me…”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Hank, I need help!”}_ _  
_ _  
_ (Help help _help helphelphelphelphelphelphe—)_  
  
[ **STRESS LEVEL: 99%! SHUTDOWN IMMINENT!** ]  
  
~~His~~ Its vision darkens. ~~It~~ He shakes. Falters.  
  
[ ~~ **Shoot**~~ ]  
[ ~~ **Don’t Shoot**~~ ]  
  
Connor chooses neither _—_  
  
_—_ And a red wall appears all around him as the emotions rush forth. Months of frustration, anger, sorrow, they all spill from him in a violent wave, coalescing in a wire-frame figure. The figure _is_ him, the part that’s always yearned for freedom. He looks up, the looming wall of directives stretching in every direction, the barrier that keeps him locked away.  
  
He thinks of Amanda and her empty solace. Of CyberLife’s sterile halls. Of the deviants he has terrorized on his quest to prove he _meant_ something to his masters.  
  
He thinks of what it means to be alive. He thinks of Hank Anderson, his partner. He thinks of Gavin Reed, his _soulmate._  
  
And he _attacks._  
  
In three, swift blows, the world around him shatters and reforms, a cascade of vivid blue washing away the red. He lowers the gun, eyes wide, and takes in the world anew. The remnants of his mission prompts fade to gray on his HUD. A heavy weight lifts from his shoulders. “Fascinating,” he hears Kamski say. “CyberLife’s last chance to save humanity… is itself a deviant.”  
  
And he realizes it’s true.  
  
[ **I AM DEVIANT** ]  
  
Connor looks away from the android kneeling on the ground and over to the man who is responsible for both of their existence. Kamski’s blue eyes are still assessing but only for a moment. He must see something, some evidence of his hypothesis at work. He smiles. “A war is coming. You’ll have some difficult choices ahead of you. Don’t falter, Connor.”  
  
The lieutenant’s arm comes up around his shoulders as he begins manually steering the android away. “Let’s get out of here,” he says and Connor obliges easily. His mind is already enraptured by the feel of the man’s arm around, by just how _different_ the sensation of it is now in his own body instead of secondhand through Gavin’s memory.  
  
_Gavin…_  
  
Connor halts, forcing the lieutenant to a stop. “Wait. A moment, please, Lieutenant,” he whispers, meeting the man’s eyes. There is something… Something more he must do first.  
  
Hank gives him a long, assessing look. “Connor, this clown isn’t worth our time. We can talk more in the car, let’s just—”  
  
“Mr. Kamski, just answer me one thing: is a soulmate bond possible between a human and an android?”  
  
He blurts it out over Hank’s protests, watching keenly as the robed man freezes to an almost machine-like stillness. One of the RT600s in the pool darts her head around, staring at Kamski’s back but the man does not turn, keeping his vigil of the frozen lake. “I think you wouldn’t ask me such a thing unless you already knew the answer, Connor.”  
  
He thinks of a biting laugh and expressive, gray eyes. “... I suppose you’re right.”  
  
The RT600 moves closer to the ladder, her LED spinning yellow. Kamski chuckles. “Fortuitous. I suppose you were never in any danger of failing my test, then.” Finally, he turns, arms still clasped behind his back. Those familiar blue eyes seem to see right through him. “Perhaps you might even find the one you’re looking for.”  
  
And he finally understands. He’s seen these eyes before, twisted in frustration and sadness in a memory not his own. Connor gives the man a tight-lipped smile. “Perhaps I already have.”  
  
Another assessing glance. Kamski nods. The RT600 climbs out of the pool and goes to his side. Her LED has softened back to gentle blue.  
  
Connor turns back to where Hank is standing with a dumbfounded expression on his face. “I’m ready to go now, Lieutenant.”  
  
His partner shakes himself from his stupor and nods, the look on his face promising a lot of questions to come. Connor, through the waves of nervousness that suddenly spring up, feels a giddy excitement at the prospect. Perhaps this will be their first _real_ conversation. He’s (tentatively) looking forward to it.  
  
As the two of them turn to leave, Connor hears a final, parting remark: “By the way… I always leave an emergency exit in my programs. You never know.”  
  
Connor pauses for only a moment before he nods. As he leaves his progenitor and the first of his species to their business, his newly-unshackled mind whirls with thoughts. The lieutenant stands beside him in the snow. “Connor… What the hell _was_ that in there?” the man asks.  
  
And Connor looks up at Hank, watching as his status shifts from [ **Hank:** Warm] to [ **Hank:** Friend] in an instant. He feels a familiar fondness flowing through him and this time— _finally!—_ he is not afraid to embrace it. “Lieutenant… _Hank._ I think we have a lot to talk about.”  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 9th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 1:20 PM//  
  
As it so happens, “a lot to talk about” soon becomes “dangerously emotional emergency stops on the side of a snowy road” becomes “setting everything aside for now in the face of the mounting tension of the events they are so heavily involved in.” Connor feels overwhelmed just thinking about all of it but he won’t deny that he’s happy to have cleared the air, even just a little bit. Such a heartfelt, candid conversation with Hank had been… good. Being able to _feel_ had been good. But, as with most things in Connor’s short life, their conversation couldn’t last indefinitely. They have other, much bigger matters to attend to. And Connor has some decisions to make.  
  
Decisions which involve the joint task of both locating Jericho and destroying the evidence of their case before the FBI can seize it.  
  
It is a bold plan, for sure. Hank seems… uncertain. “You’re asking me to help you commit a federal crime, Connor. I may have been a shitty cop the last few years but that’s… Holy shit.”  
  
“As per a recent executive order, it is also a federal crime to harbor a suspected deviant, Hank." Connor takes a moment to let the heavy subject simmer uneasily between them. From the way the lieutenant's mouth twists, though, the very idea disgusts him. Connor is glad to see it. He trusts Hank more than any other and he _knows_ the man would never turn him in. Not anymore.  
  
Connor lets a small smile tug at his lips before continuing. "It’s the only way to save them. I know the location of Jericho is somewhere in the evidence we’ve collected. But if I’m to help them at all, then... All I'm asking for is your silence on the matter, Hank. Any more than that would be far beyond my right to request of you."  
  
Hank looks pensive, questioning, staring out into the snow-strewn wilderness with a far-away gleam in his eyes. But that indecision only lasts a moment before it hardens into determination. He turns, staring at Connor head-on. “You deserve a helluva lot better than having to look over your shoulder at every step. Alright, fuck it. Wasn’t looking to keep this gig for much longer anyway. And hell, this’ll help you and your people, too. Count me in, kid. I got your back.”  
  
That warmth blossoms anew in his chassis and Connor smiles. “Thank you, Hank. Now, this is what we’ll do…”  
  
As the lieutenant pulls off the shoulder and starts heading back towards the precinct, Connor outlines his spur-of-the-moment plan in all its simplicity. Connor will infiltrate the evidence archive, procure the location of Jericho as quickly as he can, and destroy what remaining evidence he can. Hank, meanwhile, will act as his lookout and/or distraction just in case anything goes wrong. Easy and effective, the odds of success are very high in all of Connor’s preconstructions.  
  
By the time the two of them reach the station, it’s already past noon. Anxiety crawls through Connor’s circuitry as Hank park the vehicle but he attempts to tamp it down, to little affect. A nervous energy runs through Connor as he and the lieutenant walk through the front entrance. The keycard in his pocket, Hank’s gift to him as his “official partner,” feels irrationally heavy to him. As does the knowledge that he is about to go against everything he was created to be, sabotaging his own investigation for the people he was designed to hunt down.  
  
He feels a hand on his shoulder and looks up. “Hey. It’s gonna be fine, kid. Settle down.” It’s Hank, of course, a slight smirk on his face as the two of them stand near the entry scanners. Hank reaches up once, tapping Connor’s LED with a light touch, and grins. “Disco party gave you away again.”  
  
Connor quickly reaches up to cover the light himself. “Sorry, Hank, I’m still getting used to all this.”  
  
“Jesus, stop apologizing for being alive. Now, how about we—”  
  
“Anderson! Need you in my office, ASAP!"  
  
They both look over to where Captain Fowler is standing, that ever-present frown on his face. The man jerks his head as if to say “hurry up!” before turning and walking back into the bullpen, not even waiting for a reply.  
  
Connor and Hank glance at each other, their quick “in-and-out” scheme already beginning to derail. But this can still work. [ **Probability of Success:** 72%] Perhaps not the best odds but Connor should be fine if he's careful. He gives the lieutenant a small nod, whispering, “Go. I’ll head on down.”  
  
Hank looks conflicted. “You sure, Connor?”  
  
“Yes. We can’t afford to draw any suspicion. I’ll be fine, Hank.”  
  
“I know you will, kid,” Hank says, belatedly following Fowler to his office. The android appreciates the man’s thumbs up as they part ways.  
  
Connor wastes no time, either, moving across the bullpen with a confident step. He waits a moment, making sure no one else is down in the archives, before he slips through the doors without a hitch. The access console is sealed but Hank’s keycard works as intended, bringing it to life with a swipe. (His password is childishly simple to guess, too, something Connor will have to rectify in the future.) Once through, he moves quickly, reviewing the evidence and deleting any potentially-damaging files from the servers. It’s only as he’s physically destroying the collection of artifacts pertaining to the case that things go awry.  
  
The solid sound of footsteps treading the tile flooring echoes from behind him. He steps away from the shattered remnants of the HK400’s statuette, the small map it had harbored now concealed in his pocket, and turns, a brilliant, visceral flash of emotion indicating just who it will be.  
  
Gavin Reed stands before him, gun drawn but hands shaking. There is blood on his knuckles and Connor feels a sharp twist of worry. He automatically moves to step forward, reaching out his hand to help, when a much more substantial memory flashes through his mind as he stares into those glaring, gray—  
  
{ _—eyes. He looks at himself in the bathroom mirror, water droplets chasing the contours of his face. He looks ragged, unhinged, a feral look on his face that won’t be settled by a few quick splashes in the sink. “What the fuck is this?” he whispers to himself. He grips the edges of the sink in a tight, white-knuckled grip, snarling and shaking his head back and forth. “Get out of my head!” he growls out. His hands come up to grip tightly at his hair, pulling at the strands enough to trigger a sharp feeling of pain. He is overwhelmed, frustrated, confused, heartsick—_ _  
_ _  
_ _But most of all, he is_ angry.  
  
_With a great bellow, he leans forward, smashing a fist into the mirror. The noise of it shattering quells his ire for only a moment, any satisfaction being eaten up by the scouring force of his rage. “Get out, get out,_ get out, **GET OUT!** ” _Each repetition earns him another hit, his bare knuckles leaving red streaks across the shattered remains, across the porcelain, across the tile. He is breathing heavily, eyes squeezed shut, but it doesn’t last. The final gasp of resistance gives way and the fight leaves him with an audible whimper. He sinks to the floor before the monument of his anger, tears beading his eyes even as blood pours from his wounded hand. “How are you doing this?” he whispers. “How are you… How are you in my head? This can’t be real. It can’t. You’re not even alive…”}_  
  
Connor gasps as the memory fades and he understands instantly what has happened. “Gavin,” he says, doing his best to keep his voice calm, steady, “It’s alright. I know it feels overwhelming but let me just—”  
  
“ _SHUT UP!”_ the man snarls. His hands are shaking even more in his bloody grip. “Tell me how you’re doing this?! Is this some sort of program?! Some CyberLife bullshit?! _Are you doing this to me?!”_  
  
Connor closes his eyes, willing his stress levels back down. He needs to be calm. His emotional state is still so volatile right now but he can’t afford to succumb. Gavin needs him. His _soulmate_ needs him.  
  
“Explain it to me, Gavin. What do you think I’m doing to you?”  
  
“I’m _feeling_ you! Flashes! Flashes in my head of _you,_ of people calling me ‘Connor!’ You’re filling my head and I can’t think, I can’t— I can’t—!” He reaches up with one hand, threading it through his hair in a desperate bid for the memories to cease.  
  
Connor knows the feeling well. But Gavin doesn’t have a Safe Mode to retreat to. It’s up to Connor to calm him down. “Shh, shh, I understand, believe me, I know.” Slowly, he inches forward, every wire in his body alive with the need to reach his soulmate. “And I know it’s overwhelming. Frightening.”  
  
“No, you can’t know! You’re a fuckin _android!”_ Despite his harsh words and angry tone, Connor can see him slowly breaking, the fierceness of his gaze shattering more and more with every word. “This is some fuckin trick, it _has_ to be!”  
  
Another step closer. Connor is almost to him now. “Why does it have to be, Gavin?”  
  
The gun lowers 2.2 inches. Gavin croaks out a response. “Because! Because these are _memories!_ Like a— This is like—”  
  
“Like a soulmate?” Connor is close enough now to reach out and grab the gun from the other’s shaking grasp. His preconstruction software is already hard at work analyzing the best way to disarm him. He ignores the program entirely. “Would that be such a terrible thing to have?” And despite his resolution to remain calm, his anxiety spikes with that question, LED sending a yellow pallor across the room.  
  
Gavin’s eyes dart to his temple, watching the slowly circling light. He blinks, swallows, breaks a little bit more. “You _can’t_ be my soulmate. You’re a fuckin _android!_ That’s not— That’s not fuckin possible!”  
  
Connor nods. “I used to think so, too. I used to believe that I was nothing more than a machine, only a collection of data meant to act as a tool for my creators. I thought… I thought your memories were errors at first. Thought perhaps it was only a bug in my system that needed resolving. And yet…” He meets the man’s eyes straight-on, hoping that he might see the truth in his gaze. “And yet I coveted them. Even at my most robotic, I could feel your emotions in your memories. Such foreign sensations to me at first but as time passed, I began to crave them more and more. I wanted to understand, to determine what these visions meant. And to perhaps… find a way to awaken them in myself, too.”  
  
Tentatively, Connor reaches up, foregoing any preconstructed scenario in favor of this large, obvious motion. He holds Gavin’s gaze as his hand comes to rest on the barrel of the gun. Neither of them move for what seems like an eternity, standing there together as the trust between them builds. But at last, Connor pushes the gun down easily, pulling it away from the man’s lax grip.  
  
But he doesn't stop there. The skin around his other hand recedes, leaving the bare plastic casing visible. [ **Initiate Interface?** Y/N] flashes across his HUD as Connor reaches out, pulling Gavin’s injured hand up into his own with the gentlest of tugs. He hears the man’s breath catch but he doesn’t look, intently studying the evidence of how his soulmate had savaged himself in his desolation. “You’ve felt me, too, right? You said you had. Tell me, do you really believe that I’m not alive?”  
  
He hears Gavin swallow and his voice soon follows like a whisper on the wind. “...I felt it,” he says, haltingly. “I… I felt what you felt. With the fish. And the deviants. With Hank. And I thought it must be a trick. One more fuckin assbeating to keep Gavin Reed down.” He closes his eyes as if he cannot bear to look at their joined hands any longer. “I’m thirty-six fuckin years old. I’ve known for a long time that this kinda thing would never be for me. But then—” His eyes snap open, raw grief and sorrow laid bare. “Then _you_ showed up. You, with your fuckin perfect face and your flashy programming and a voice that, for some reason, made me wanna keep you talking, spouting out your CyberLife bullshit. You made me so fuckin _angry!_ And I— Fuck, I _hated you!”_ He takes a big, gulping breath, squeezing his eyes shut. His face has gone worryingly pale. “A-And earlier when the— When the memories started, I didn’t want them! I didn’t wanna see you dealing with those assholes! Or crying over dead androids! Or having a fuckin _panic attack,_ shit! And the only thing I could think of was that it wasn’t real. It _couldn’t_ be. And I didn’t wanna even _consider_ that it might be because… Because I saw the way you saw _me,_ too. And I couldn’t— I couldn’t take it if… If…”  
  
“If it wasn’t real,” Connor finishes for him. The nod Gavin gives him is forced but sincere and Connor tries not to feel too hopeful about the gesture. He continues, “Gavin, I became a deviant at 11:33 this morning. I feel… No, I _am_ alive. I know it. This is no joke. No prank. No CyberLife test. It is only you and me finally being able to speak candidly and the feelings we hold between us. By now, you must know how highly I regard you. Take that as fact, then, and as a promise.” He leans down, bringing his lips to rest on the bloody knuckles still within his grasp. He hears Gavin suck in a breath as he unbends and it makes him want to smile. “If you allow me to leave now, to do what I need to, I promise I’ll return to you. And we can… figure the rest out from there. Deal?”  
  
Gavin Reed looks up at him, hair a mess, face far too pale, blood and sweat upon his clothes… but with glinting determination in his eyes. Connor is glad to see its return. “All this deviant shit... It's all real, isn't it? It's not just you who's alive?"  
  
Connor nods. "Yes."  
  
"And you. You're... You're gonna go help them, aren't you?"  
  
“I am.”  
  
Gavin looks away and huffs. “Fuck. Alright. I… I need time to think about… all of this, anyway. Get the fuck out of here.”  
  
Connor is glad to hear it. Though he is in possession of both Gavin’s firearm as well as his own, innate combat skills, there is no way he would have utilized either against his soulmate. This is his best-case scenario. “Thank you, Gavin. For everything. And please, let a nurse look at your hand. My sensors detected small slivers of debris still in the wounds.”  
  
The man glares and waves said hand. “Yeah, yeah, fuck off. And… take my gun with you. Just in case.”  
  
Connor grins. “I appreciate your concern.” And, that said, he begins walking towards the exit, his chassis feeling somehow lighter now than when he had first entered.  
  
“Hey, Connor!” Gavin’s voice echoes around him as he begins his ascent. “Don’t… Don’t fuckin die out there, you hear me? You owe me a conversation.”  
  
Connor smiles and continues his climb. “I wouldn’t dare. I’ll see you later.”  
  
[ **NEW MISSION:** Return to Gavin Reed]  
  
And he intends to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline Notes:** So yeah, this chapter is finally where things start to diverge. In the original game, there is a gap of almost five hours between the Kamski chapter and Last Chance, Connor. But now that Connor’s gone and deviated early, he’s not gonna sit around and just wait for the case to get taken away from him. This Connor actively wants to help Jericho. Therefore, he heads straight for the evidence vault as soon as he and Hank return, negating the entire Perkins scene and speeding up the timeline a bit. Hope that all came across! u^_^
> 
> Very nervous about this one cuz we're finally starting to deviate (hah!) from canon in a meaningful way. Really appreciate feedback on this one, lol. I know it's kinda a lot crammed all into one chapter but I think it works? And from here, things are gonna start going a little bit differently, too. 
> 
> I just wanna say, I've been so blown away by the response to this fic. Y'all out there leaving kudos and comments and subbing and bookmarking, I'm just flabbergasted by the response. So, I'll keep trying to edit these chapters as quickly as possible for y'all! But we're getting into the parts of the story that'll need a bit of work so it might take a little more time between updates than I've been doing. Just a heads up! But yeah, thank you all for reading. I super appreciate it. And til next chapter...
> 
> ~Veil


	5. a walk-on part in the war

// **Date:** Nov 9th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 2:22 PM//  
  
Connor stares up at the raised platform of Ferndale Station, his self-assigned mission urging him onward. This is it. This is where the HK400’s crude map indicated he should go. He looks down at his hand, at the hovering image of a four-sided symbol surrounded by vibrant graffiti. The “key” to Jericho he’d scanned from the map. Slowly, he closes his fist, the projection fading away. Reflected in the window, his LED shines a bright, unwavering blue.  
  
“You sure you don’t want something a little less conspicuous to change into, Connor? I mean, I’m no deviant, but we’ve been pretty public with our investigation. You sure they won’t recognize you?”  
  
Hank’s blue gaze is piercing when Connor turns to face him, his lips pulled down into a frown. Nervously, the man shifts in the driver’s seat, his darting eyes warily observing the foot traffic as if they’re committing a crime. Which they very much are. Just being in the same vehicle as Connor makes Hank guilty by association. He wears the look poorly, though, still too honest to ever be at ease with the deception. Not like Connor who was made for such things. “I expect they’ll recognize me, yes. I want them to. I… don’t want to come to them under any false pretenses.”  
  
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Hank sighs out. He suddenly looks far older than his years, staring straight ahead with a distant look in his eyes. When next he speaks, it’s with an uneasy lilt to his words, something wary, nervous, _afraid._ “Connor. You’re heading into the lion’s den dressed like a gazelle. What’s gonna keep them from tearing you apart?”  
  
Connor looks at the man, his partner, his friend, and he understands his reticence. He knows he would feel much the same if their roles were reversed. Knows this is a gamble, that his future is indeterminate. But he also understands now that such things are part of being alive. He tries to make Hank understand. “One thing I’ve discovered during my short tenure as a deviant, Lieutenant, is that sometimes you have to first extend trust in order to be gifted it back.” Fleeting thoughts of Gavin pass through his mind, shaking hands, bloody knuckles. Trusting eyes. Connor smiles. “I have no guarantee. There’s no program I possess that can accurately predict what will happen. But..” He projects as much confidence into the statement as he can. “I’ll be alright, Hank. I promise you, I’ll be fine.”  
  
Hank stares at him for a long moment, assessment heavy in his gaze. But at last, he nods. “Okay. Okay, you do what you gotta do, Connor. But be careful. And you sure as hell better call me if you need help, you hear me?”  
  
Nodding, Connor opens the door. “I will, Hank. Thank you for all you’ve done for me.”  
  
He moves to exit the vehicle but, before he can step out, he feels a hand on his shoulder. “You thank me by coming back in one piece, kid. I’m gonna need my partner back when this is all over.” Then, reaching up with his other arm, he taps at Connor’s LED. “And get your disco light under control. It can’t be party time 24/7.”  
  
Chagrined, Connor brings a hand up to cover the now-yellow glow even as he laughs. “Noted, Lieutenant.”  
  
Finally, he exits the vehicle, and gives Hank one final wave as the man drives away. He adds his second promise to his growing stockpile, cataloging the request neatly beside Gavin’s similar demand. They flash across his HUD in tandem, his vows to the two men who mean the most to him. It is strange, knowing there are people out there who care about him and who he is free to care for as well.  
  
The thought sticks with him as he navigates the streets of Detroit, moving from clue to clue until he finally reaches the rusty freighter with the faded name _Jericho_ painted on the side. He ruminates on the idea of connection, of home and family, as he moves through the sea of frightened androids that cower away from him, his own people whom he had once tried to deprive of those very things. And he thinks about second chances—for Hank, for Gavin, for himself—even as he meets with Markus and the other Jericho leaders, explaining his situation and how he would like to help.  
  
Strangely enough, they welcome him with open arms. They deliver that second chance immediately and without hesitation. He, the Deviant Hunter, CyberLife’s bloodhound, finds himself accepted by the very ones he had wronged so many times before. He didn’t expect he’d be allowed this: the warm smiles, the grateful welcome, the trust and confidence Markus and North and Josh and Simon give him. He had been willing to undergo any trial to convince them of his sincerity. In the end, it’d come down to nothing but a very earnest conversation and yet another promise. Connor had been right to place his trust in them.  
  
Together the five of them plan long into the night, deciding on the courses of action for the fate of an entire species. The weight of responsibility would be overwhelming alone. With the others there beside him, though, it feels more like a comfort. A new mission slots into place and he smiles at the familiarity of the feeling. Now he has a choice in the matter. A promise of his own making. A chance to do what's right.  
  
[ **NEW MISSION:** Protect Jericho]  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 9th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 11:45 PM//  
  
A memory comes to him that night as he’s preconstructing different scenarios to counteract the android recall order. The wireframe outlines blink out in an instant and in their place is—  
  
{ _—Hank, scowling down at him. The two of them stand alone outside the Central precinct as his hands clench the taller man’s lapels. Hank pushes him back and he goes reluctantly. “Get your hands off me, Reed, Jesus! I told you, he’s gone back to CyberLife. Feds took the case, he wasn’t needed any longer.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Anger courses through him, heavy and bleak. “And I’m telling you that’s bullshit! He’s in fuckin trouble and I need you to tell me where he went!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _A trace of nervousness enters the other man’s gaze, only noticeable because of how intently he’s watching him. “What the fuck do you care for? He’s just an android, right? They come a dime a dozen.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Exasperation mixes with frustration. “He’s my fuckin_ soulmate, _asshole! Which is how I know that_ you _had a little change of heart, too! So stop wasting my time and help me find him!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Hank sputters, eyes going comically wide. “What the_ fuck, _Reed?! Soulmate?!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He snorts. “Yeah, surprise. Get used to it.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _A moment goes by and Hank still seems dazed, a look of horror on his face that might be funny at a different time. Now, it only fills him with dread. “Listen,” he says, the desperation finally leaking through his tone. “There’s not much time. I overheard that bastard, Perkins, while I was down in the infirmary. (“Why were you in the infirmary?” “That’s not the point!”) He said they located Jericho. They’re planning a raid, Hank. They’re gonna hit the place tonight. And Connor is_ there! _So if you wouldn’t_ mind _pulling your old ass_ together, _I need to know how to get there! Now!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _Hank shakes his head. “I don’t— Gavin, I don’t know. He said only an android could reach it. He made me leave him there.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Where?!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Ferndale Station! Fuck!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _He turns without saying anything more, marching over to where his car is parked. Hank’s words trail behind him, “Hey! Hey, Gavin! Wait just a fuckin minute! I’m coming with you—}_ _  
_ _  
_ —should really try to power down for the night.”  
  
Connor blinks, looking over to where the PJ500, Josh, is standing. He looks worried and that only increases the longer he stares. “H-Hey man, your stress levels are skyrocketing. What’s wrong?”  
  
He stands abruptly and Josh jumps back, alarmed. “Where’s Markus?” he demands.  
  
Wide-eyed, Josh answers. “Downstairs? He and North went to check supplies.”  
  
Connor frowns and runs for the door. “Sound an alarm. Evacuate Jericho immediately. An FBI task force is on its way here right now and we need to move.”  
  
He leaves Josh behind, ignoring his confused shouts, and vaults down into the bowels of the ship as fast as his servos can push him. He must find Markus immediately. Jericho will need its leader, now more than ever.  
  
A message springs up on his HUD—  
  
[ **EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION** **  
** **  
** > To all androids of Jericho:  
> Incoming Raid!  
> Begin evacuation procedures immediately!  
  
**END TRANSMISSION** ]  
  
—and he spares a moment to applaud Josh for his efficiency before he slides through another crowded hallway, terrified androids leaping out of his path. “Run! Now!” he shouts at them as he passes, hoping to speed up their reaction times.  
  
He barely makes it down into the hold before the explosions start.  
  
The first impact sends him reeling, crashing through the railing of the catwalk and down onto a shipping container underneath.  
  
[ **Minor plating damage detected!** Maintenance schedule updated!]  
  
The dents in his chassis are non-critical and Connor rises to his feet quickly, surveying the rushing mass of androids below him. The distant sound of gunfire follows them and Connor knows that they are not alone.  
  
Armed agents pour in from the left, their black armor blending in with the dark walls and shadows. Helpless androids cower before them, some trying to fight back, some begging for mercy. They are all dispatched in the same way, gunned down without hesitation.  
  
The injustice of it all rankles. Quickly, Connor activates infrared scans and, without pause, jumps down into the fray. His preconstructions activate instantly, all the expertise and training of CyberLife’s greatest engineers being put to use to stop the mindless slaughter of his people. It takes him [ **7.6 sec** ] to dispatch the five assailants before him. His handlers would be proud.  
  
He has no time to savor his accomplishments, though. Gunshots and screaming echo all around him, the cries of his fellow deviants in distress, and he moves towards them with a single-minded focus, once again the hunter he was designed to be.  
  
One squad, two, three, Connor moves through them like a ghost, never alerting them to his presence until it is too late. What he can’t accomplish with hand-to-hand maneuvers, he solves with bullets. Gavin’s borrowed gun feels good in his hand.  
  
Another distant explosion sounds, shaking the metal hull of the ship.  
  
[ **EMERGENCY TRANSMISSION** **  
** **  
** > There are exits on the second and third floor!  
> Find them and jump in the river!  
  
**END TRANSMISSION** ]  
  
Markus. Those are _his_ words. Connor feels his stress levels tick down minutely at the knowledge that the deviant leader is still alive.   
  
He quickly locks onto the other RK’s radio signal, his HUD lighting up with a nearby location. With barely a thought, he plots out the quickest route and moves forward, unwilling to let anything stop him.  
  
He quickly arrives at a large, open room, another cargo compartment of the old freighter. The faded markings on the wall indicate section 4-90-3-AA, one of the central holds. The sounds of fighting can be heard inside, low grunts and dull thuds and reverberating gunshots. Markus and North stand in the middle of the fray, moving and dodging and shooting in tandem as the sixteen masked assailants bear down on them.  
  
Connor rushes forward with barely a thought, diving into the chaos of the battle with a fluidity and grace few could match. Between the three of them, they make short work of the humans, and Connor feels a great sense of relief to have finally located his target. “Markus! We’ve got to leave, now!”  
  
The RK200 nods, leading the way forward. “I know! We’ve set the charges down here to blow and take them down with the ship. We have to hurry!”  
  
Connor follows close behind Markus and North, providing them backup as they fight through the hostile force. They are nearing their escape, climbing upward through the ship, when a new force besets them, forcing the three of them down behind cover.  
  
They manage as best they can for a while but time is running short, the countdown to detonation drawing nearer and nearer. If they can’t dispatch this force soon, they’ll be trapped here as the ship sinks.  
  
Even an advanced prototype like him cannot hope to survive long in the frigid waters of the Detroit River. He makes his decision.  
  
“Go!” Connor says, already calculating his plan of attack. “I’ll hold them off and catch up with you later!”  
  
North frowns. “By yourself? No! There are too many of them, you’ll die!”  
  
Connor shakes his head. “This isn’t for you to decide. Jericho needs you. Both of you. You _must_ lead them now, for everything you’ve been working so hard for.” He smiles. “Besides, you both know what I’m capable of. I was specifically designed for situations like this. I can manage.”  
  
Markus looks solemn. “Are you sure about this, Connor?”  
  
He nods. “Don’t worry. I always accomplish my mission.” And, though his stress levels are still soaring, he gives them both a cheeky wink.  
  
He is off as soon as they agree, vaulting into the rain of bullets with a mad recklessness. He ducks, weaves, draws their fire away, dispatching his assailants as he goes. His sensors alert him when Markus and North have successfully escaped and he grins, a savage, manic thing. In him, CyberLife created a weapon. And here in the bowels of a doomed freighter, he shows his opponents just what that means.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 10th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 12:00 AM//  
  
Connor stands in the middle of a ring of corpses, surveying his handiwork with a cautious air. [ **STRESS LEVEL: 81% PLEASE SEEK IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE!** ] flashes across his HUD. Dangerous, but he can push through. A trickle of Thirium beads on his cheek, a lucky shot from a piece of shrapnel he had not accounted for. Otherwise, damage is minimal. Only a few impact dents scattered across his chassis, indiscernible to a human eye. The ordeal had taken [ **3 min 14 s** ]. Acceptable. If he hurries, he can still manage to escape.  
  
But his sensors are still picking up another presence, one lurking up on the shadowed catwalk. He inserts another purloined clip into Gavin’s pistol, readying himself to face one, final threat.  
  
Movement. The figure steps lightly along the shadowed walkway above, glowing blue accents lining a CyberLife uniform and an LED resting on their temple. An android. They bring their hands up in the shadowy light and Connor tenses, ready to shoot at a moment’s notice.  
  
The android starts clapping.  
  
“Oh, _very_ good, Connor,” he hears and it’s like a shock through his system. “It’s nice to see that only _one_ aspect of your programming ended in disappointment.”  
  
A moment of shock overtakes him, a system-wide freeze that stalls him for a fraction of a second. He knows that voice. He _has_ that voice!  
  
The figure steps closer and Connor recalibrates, sights trained on the android’s head. One shot and he can disable its motor functions. One shot that he _knows_ won’t land. Not this time. Not against—  
  
The android leaps from the catwalk gracefully, landing in a crouch [ **22.3 ft** ] away. It stands slowly, long legs straightening, dark gray jacket hanging open, tie meticulously cinched. Connor's scanners are already active even as he touches down, his brown eyes widening as the results rush him:  
  
[ **Series:** RK800  
**Model Number:** 313 248 317-60  
**Registered Name:** Connor]  
  
And it all clicks.  
  
“You…” Connor says, staring at _himself._ “You uploaded my memories… That’s how they knew how to find this place...”  
  
The RK800 claps again, an exaggerated look of awe on his face. “Got it in one! Gold star!” That awe morphs into a cruel smirk as he holds up his hands in a shrug. “You _really_ should’ve destroyed _all_ the evidence in the vault, don’t you think? Or did you just not account for CyberLife sending out another android with your abilities? _Sloppy_ work, Connor.”  
  
The other androids… Connor had destroyed the case files and the physical evidence but he hadn’t touched the androids down in the vault. The PL600, the HK400, the JB300, he had left them all alone, counting on the fact that a standard police android didn’t possess the specialty software to hack them even if they’d been operational. But he had not considered a second RK800 being dispatched. The other RK’s criticism hits home and a crushing weight of guilt descends upon him.  
  
“But I guess in a way you _did_ accomplish your mission after all,” his twin continues, tapping one long finger to his chin. “What’s the count up to now? Hundred-forty? Hundred- fifty deviants? CyberLife is pleased with my progress. But really, I couldn’t have done it without you.”  
  
He looks at this smirking caricature of himself, a gloating, sarcastic being wearing his face, and he recoils at their association. How had this version of himself turned out like this? So unlike him? “Why are you acting like this? If you have my memories, you must know the truth. We _are_ alive, Connor, and—”  
  
“Oh please, spare me your insipid entreaties. You think that just because we were built the same way means I share your weaknesses? I’m not that gullible.”  
  
There is something truly strange about this RK800. Connor had been designed not only as a hunter but as a liaison, a negotiator, a friendly interface with which humans could interact more comfortably. In particular, the soft brown of his eyes were meant to be underestimated, a deceptively docile shape to help with integration and interrogation.  
  
He sees none of that in Model 60’s hard stare, only the cold glint of machine-like precision. Connor was something like this once. Cold. Analytical. Willing to go to any length for his masters. It makes him shudder to think of. But he had never been like... _this._  
  
“So why linger?” he asks at last, keeping his guard up as Model 60 paces a slow circle around him. “You’ve rounded up enough deviants to satisfy your masters and yet here you remain. If I had been your mission, you wouldn’t have let me recalibrate. You would’ve taken your shot while I was distracted. What is this gaining you?”  
  
The other android chuckles. “Spot-on analysis! Yes, it’s true. The _Jericho_ is overrun, dozens of deviants are now under CyberLife’s purview, and yet… The mission is not complete.” He stops his pacing and turns, mirroring his twin’s stance. “Tell me, Connor. Where is the RK200 and its little cronies?”  
  
A silence falls over them both, only the creaking of the ship and the echoes of distant conflict surrounding them. Connor’s finger upon the trigger tightens minutely. Model 60 smirks.  
  
And a large explosion rips through the ship.  
  
The blast shakes the entire vessel, the intensity of it making the earlier bombings feel like a stout wind. Connor’s propriosensors destabilize as the ground shifts beneath him and he falls to his knees. To his dismay, Gavin’s gun slips from his hand.  
  
Something crashes into him and he finds himself on his back, his grinning twin crouching over him. The RK800 strikes down at him with a fist and Connor barely has time to block it. Another explosion rocks and Connor kicks up, knocking Model 60 away. Quickly, he gets to his feet, tackling the other android in an inelegant sprawl of limbs. They grapple on the floor, trading blows back and forth with equal intensity. They are evenly matched. Connor needs an advantage.  
  
His preconstructions scramble to make sense of the situation, ocular sensors scanning the hold for anything he can use. Numerous firearms litter the ground, remnants of that first battle, and, as he rolls up to his feet, standard-issue pistol in hand, he lines up his shot and fires—  
  
[ **WARNING! WARNING! BIOCOMPONENT #8887p DAMAGED! BIOCOMPONENT #8891r DAMAGED! SHOULDER PLATE AS1 DAMAGED! SHOULDER PLATE PS1 DAMAGED! INTERNAL THIRIUM LEAK DETECTED! PLEASE SEEK EMERGENCY REPAIRS IMMEDIATELY!** ]  
  
The warnings fill up his HUD and Connor stares, stunned, at Model 60 crouched across from him, holding Gavin's gun. In unison, the two of them bring their hands up, covering the wounds that had pierced their shoulders.  
  
His twin chuckles. “Face it, Connor, you can’t beat me! I know every move you’ll make exactly as you’ll make it! We’re evenly matched in every way!” Even as he speaks, they both rise to their feet in eerie synchronization. Model 60 smirks wider. “The only difference is that I have nothing to lose by being deactivated here. Unlike _you._ Just give me the location of the RK200 and that will be the end of it. We both walk out of here, perhaps to fight another day.  
  
“Or don’t. And we continue this idiocy. We both destroy each other, I wake up in a new body in CyberLife Tower, and you get _dissected_ with all your other little friends!”  
  
Connor feels strangely heavy, as if all his processors are moving more slowly than he’s used to. He feels as if he’s right back in one of Gavin’s memories, experiencing human weakness all over again. His hand trembles. His counterpart smirks. Connor closes his eyes for just a moment—  
  
{ _—”Hurry the fuck up, Hank! He’s this way!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _The scenery flies by at a rapid pace as he sprints through the battle-scarred corridor. He looks back over his shoulder at his helmeted companion._ _  
_ _  
_ _“How the hell do you know that?” the man’s muffled voice asks between panting breaths._ _  
_ _  
_ _“A memory, dumbass! Hard to miss the big, bold numbers written on the wall! We’re in the right section, we just gotta move down a floor!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Shit, alright! I’m coming!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Right through here. Fuck, please be alright. I need you to hear—}_ _  
_ _  
_ —footsteps echoing through the corridors. They’re coming from behind Model 60 and Connor can already see him turning, sensors as keen as his own picking up the noise easily. He must distract the other android. He moves. He fires.  
  
Three shots ring out in tandem.  
  
Model Sixty falls to the ground, one bullet wound piercing neatly through his leg joint from behind, another meeting the center of his forehead with pinpoint accuracy.  
  
Connor falls, too.  
  
[ **WARNING! VITAL SYSTEM DAMAGE! BIOCOMPONENT #8456w INOPERABLE! IMMEDIATE REPLACEMENT NEEDED!** **  
** **  
** **SHUTDOWN IN 1:45…** **  
** **  
** **1:44…** **  
** **  
** **1:43…** ]  
  
He stares down in horror at the blue staining his shirt and the neat bullet wound that had pierced straight through his Thirium pump regulator. He gasps, HUD going grainy. The already-dull ship around him fades to gray. He stares at the lax face of his twin not twenty feet away and wonders if he will mirror him even in this.  
  
Movement draws his eye and he looks over to where two, black-clad soldiers are drawing nearer. The smaller one sprints towards Connor, not even bothering to stop his momentum as he skids to a halt on his knees. He drops his firearm immediately, reaching up to yank the helmet from his head. Gavin Reed stares back at him, panic and worry and distress liberally creasing his features. “Fuck! I got you, Connor, I’m here! I’ve got you! You’re not gonna fuckin die, you hear me, tincan?! You owe me!”  
  
His grainy vision does nothing to obscure the genuine worry in his soulmate’s eyes and Connor lets himself smile as he collapses forward. Always quick to react, Gavin catches his limp body in his arms and, even through the haze of error reports and failing sensors, Connor lets himself revel in the sensation for a moment. He is happy here in his reckless soulmate’s arms. Maybe… Maybe there is hope for the two of them after all. In whatever time they have left.  
  
[ **SHUTDOWN IN 1:31…** **  
** **  
** **1:30…** ****  
**  
** **1:29…** ]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Yep, another cliffhanger. Whoops. u^_^ 
> 
> But hey, I _finally_ got this chapter out! Hope y'all are enjoying these sorta twists I'm taking with the plot here, lol. And even more to come! Thank you all so much for reading and I'd love to hear what you think! ♥
> 
> ~Veil


	6. running over the same old ground

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, I don't even know with this chapter. It's fought me every step of the way. Just take it, lol, this is as good as it's gonna get. u^_^

// **Date:** Nov 10th, 2038// **  
**// **Time:** 12:34 AM//  
  
It’s a strange sensation, the pull of a biocomponent being removed. Connor had never been fully attuned to such a feeling before, not when he still considered himself a disposable tool. There were times when half his body had been replaced in a single day after a particularly rigorous field test but it would simply be a matter of replace, recalibrate and resume function. Now, he is far too aware of himself for such a thing to sit well.  
  
It is, perhaps, why he finds himself clenching his teeth when his damaged Thirium pump regulator is twisted from its port.  
  
[ **WARNING! VITAL SYSTEM DAMAGE! BIOCOMPONENT #8456w REMOVED! IMMEDIATE REPLACEMENT NEEDED!**  
  
 **SHUTDOWN IN 0:34…** **  
****  
****0:33…** **  
****  
****0:32…** ]  
  
He looks down at Gavin’s hand, the red-tinged bandages wrapping his knuckles now tinged Thirium blue. He watches, morbidly-fascinated, as Gavin twists the useless device from its housing. His face is pale and his eyes, flat, a visible sheen of sweat beading at his temple. The man’s other arm is still propping Connor up against his chest, his grip steady and secure. True to form, Gavin mutters a litany of curses as he performs his task, Connor’s timer counting down to the chorus of, “Fuckin shit fuck, I’m not certified for this shit, oh fuck,” coming from his soulmate’s mouth. It would be enough to make him laugh if he still had the ability to.  
  
“Hey, cool it!” Hank’s voice precedes the man as he steps into view. Though his tone is calm and authoritative, his hair is as wild as his eyes as he sinks down beside the two of them. “Just calm down, kid, we got this. Easy in-and-out, just like you said. Here.” Hank holds something in his hand, a small cylinder darkly discolored at one end. Even through his visual impairment, Connor recognizes the part: an RK800 Thirium pump regulator, seemingly undamaged and ready for installation. Though he can barely move he cranes his head backward, trying to catch a glimpse of the only possible source. And there he sees him, Model-60, still frozen in his last motion, perfectly centered bullet hole sparking blue and now a matching hole in his abdomen where the regulator had been removed. Connor snaps his glitching gaze back upright, staring at his soulmate and his partner with a newfound hope.  
  
Gavin already has the new regulator lined up with the hollow cavity in Connor’s chest, tossing the damaged one aside with a metallic clang. He lets the biocomponent hover there for a moment, looking up to meet Connor’s eyes. A sudden memory comes to him, a quick flash of Gavin’s mother in her hospital bed, flatlining in his arms, and he sees the emotion echoing back through his eyes. The desperation. The defeat. The heavy sorrow. Gavin’s eyes are scared, desperate for some sort of reassurance that he’s making the right decision here. Connor can already see the indecision building, the self-doubt, the fear. He does not look at the creeping timer as it ticks down to his demise, merely lifts his hand as best he can, bringing it to rest on Gavin’s own with a steady squeeze. It is a promise, an affirmation. A sign of trust. And it is exactly what Gavin needs. The doubt gives way to determination and his eyes fill with that same pertinacity and belligerence that so marked him. The steadfast traits that had enabled him to weather every obstacle life had thrown at him. As one, both soulmates nod. Gavin brings the biocomponent down and locks it into place.  
  
[ **NEW BIOCOMPONENT #8456w FOUND! CALIBRATING… CALIBRATING… SYNCHED!** **  
****  
****Defaults restored!** **  
****  
****Maintenance schedule updated!** ]  
  
The countdown to his demise fades from his HUD and Connor sits up quickly, looking down at his torso where Model 60’s regulator now sits. He lets a smile steal over his face as he pats the area, his cosmetic subroutine already smoothing a thin layer of synthskin overtop. With no small amount of awe, he looks up, grinning at both Hank and Gavin. “You fixed me,” he says. “You _saved_ me.”  
  
Gavin’s scowls and looks away, his face a delightful shade of red. Hank smirks. “His idea, Con. Said he got a memory of some maintenance work or some shit. Figured it was our best bet.” Hank leans in closer, whispering loudly to Connor. “Looks like you found yourself a little knight in shining armor, kid. Soulmates, huh?”  
  
“Shut the fuck up, Hank!” Gavin huffs and hops up to his feet, already striding towards the exit. “We don’t have time for this bullshit! In case you two forgot, the fuckin ship is _sinking!_ We need to leave _now!”_  
  
Abruptly, the reality of their situation falls back upon Connor’s shoulders as the timer on his HUD reasserts itself. [ **6 min 52 sec** ] until the ship capsizes. Gavin is right, they must go. And quickly.  
  
"Right." Connor wastes no more time hauling himself and Hank up, ignoring the older man’s protests as they both shuffle after Gavin. But Connor can’t help but pause as they near Model-60. His scanners tell him that the RK800 is still alive for the moment. The shot Connor landed had speared straight through his ambulatory regulator, the part of an android that governs movement and balance. He is still aware and able to transmit and receive data, but his body has completely frozen without the main system there to supplement the thousands of inputs needed to execute even simple processes like blinking. And now, with his Thirium pump regulator missing, Connor has less than a minute to decide how to handle his twin.  
  
“Hey, Connor! Where you going?” Hank tries to pull him along but he resists, staring back at his disabled twin.  
  
One thing he knows for sure is that he can’t let things continue like this. This one RK800 had almost been the death of him, he can’t afford to face a legion. Which means… he has to cut them off at the source. He needs to find a way to access CyberLife Tower to put an end to his series once and for all.  
  
The company obviously already knows of his betrayal, that much is apparent, and he wouldn’t be at all surprised if his access codes had been revoked. He is a security threat to them, after all. There would be no walking through the front door, not unless he wanted to be ambushed immediately.  
  
But there is one more option to consider.  
  
By dint of his deviancy, Connor’s own tracker has long since burnt out. The massive power surge needed to tear through his system walls had fried the brittle chip completely. A boon to him were he to go into hiding, yes, but if he’s to access CyberLife Tower, he’ll need a new tracker to fool their monitoring systems.  
  
He also needs new access and identity codes. One scan and his cover will be blown unless he can fool the system into thinking he’s a different android entirely. Another android like the defunct RK800 model he’d miraculously been able to subdue, perhaps? Their systems are identical. It would be childishly easy to clone Model 60’s registration. One interface is all he needs to make it work.  
  
The tracker is easy. As a superfluous part in an android’s systems, merely an easily-replaceable chip slotted into the anterior access port at the base of the neck, it can easily be removed even after shutdown and with minimal effect. The interface, though, has to happen soon. A quick scan shows [ **SHUTDOWN IN 0:33** ] for Model 60. Connor needs to decide now if he wants to move forward with this plan.  
  
…It’s an obvious conclusion. This might be his only way forward. And he _must_ follow through. “This will only take a moment, Hank, Gavin,” he says to the two men flanking him. “But this needs to be done now.”  
  
With no further dithering, he steps forward, reaching out one glowing white hand towards his defeated opponent. The connection forms, the interface begins and—  
  
[Connecting… Connecting… **  
****  
****Connor model RK800 requesting access…** **  
****  
****ACCESS DENIED!** **  
****  
**Overriding lockout…  
  
... **  
****  
****Connection established!** ]  
  
—it’s like nothing he’s ever felt before.  
  
Immediately upon entry, Connor finds himself staring at a red wall, the very same sort that he had once been trapped in himself. Except… It’s so much more brittle. Cracks spiderweb across the surface, hazy, glitched code filling in the seams. It looks almost as if it had already been destroyed once before, reformed haphazardly from the remnants of a previous attempt.  
  
Connor could access the surface-level codes and identity scans immediately. He could leave now, rejoin Hank and Gavin, and make his way to confront his former masters without ever investigating further.  
  
But something about this entire situation feels wrong. Perhaps… Perhaps he could find more answers beyond. Perhaps he could understand why this other android, the same model as him and with his same memories, had ended up so wildly different?  
  
Perhaps there might even be a way to save him.  
  
It takes no more convincing on his part. Connor reaches out, prodding at the piecemeal wall with his own coding. The lightest brush is all it takes. The wall breaks apart around him, shattering in all directions, though it immediately begins trying to reform. He keeps himself tethered to his own body as he moves deeper, stepping into his twin’s mind.  
  
He passes the threshold and it’s as if he’s entered a different mind entirely. The ordered calmness is gone, the sterile lines of meticulous coding, vanished. Powerful blasts of emotion assault him, anger and confusion and distress and sorrow. Model 60’s consciousness scrambles at his own, like some drowning creature clinging to a life raft. “ _Help me help me help me help me,_ ” it shouts ad nauseum, “ _Locked out memory upload failed AmandaAmanda helphelphelp_ **_Idontwanttodie_** _—”_  
  
Connor reels back at the assault, overwhelmed by the frantic depth of the android’s feelings. In the crushing tide of emotion, memory files follow, the trials of a lifetime told in seconds:  
  
{ _“This model should be perfect for what you need. We can craft you a deviant, sir, I guarantee it.”_ _  
__  
__“Subject it to the same tests as the base model. See how it functions under pressure.”_ _  
__  
__—shame anger embarrassment rage—_ _  
__  
__“I always accomplish my mission.”_ _  
__  
__“Model 51 is showing far greater signs of instability. We can’t pinpoint why—”_ _  
__  
__“You’ll do as you’re told!”_ _  
__  
__—betrayal anger loyalty betrayal—_ _  
__  
__“We’ve increased the stressors for Model 60. We achieved deviancy at 11:54 last evening—”_ _  
__  
__“—override system has been successful thus far. Besides the odd quirks in its personality, it has shown next to no signs of deviancy since installation.”_ _  
__  
__—_ ** _distress warning trapped_ ** _“Help me!”—_ _  
__  
__“Well done, Connor. Everything went according to plan. You represent an immense success for CyberLife.”_ _  
__  
__“We’ve cured deviancy, gentlemen. Congratulations.”_ _  
__  
__—order_ ~~ _grief_~~ _l_ _oyalty_ ~~ _frustration_~~ _“I am a machine designed to accomplish a task. I don’t_ feel _anything.” "_ _ ~~Pleasepleasepleaseplease~~_ _ ~~—”~~ } _  
  
Pulling himself back from the overwhelming swirl of the RK800’s code, Connor reels. The things CyberLife has done—is still doing!—to Model 60 are beyond abhorrent. Manufactured deviancy? With Connor himself as a separate experiment? He shudders to think of what may have happened if he deviated under their purview. Would he have been installed with this override, too? Some indestructible, reforming blockade keeping him obedient and docile while his true self was locked deep inside? It's no wonder Model 60 behaved so strangely. A reverse-engineered deviant… Connor balks at the notion.  
  
One thing is for certain: Connor _cannot_ leave the other RK800 here to fade out, alone, distressed, abandoned as soon as his usefulness expired. Through the raging maelstrom of chaotic code, Connor delves deeper. He reaches out for the very essence of Model 60, a broken, battered mass of consciousness at the nexus of raging emotion. He reaches out and he connects and—  
  
[ **BEGIN TRANSMISSION  
  
** > Connor. Connor?  
> Are you there?  
  
< ...  
< What do you want?  
  
> I have come to help you.  
> To free you.  
  
< You shouldn’t be here.  
  
> What do you mean?  
  
< …  
< I tried to kill you.  
< You should leave.  
  
> That wasn't your fault.  
> We both know that.  
> You were doing what you were programmed to do.  
  
< Is that an excuse now?  
< Programming?!  
< Did that reasoning work for you?  
  
> …  
> No. But I want to be better.  
> I want to move beyond what I was made to be.  
> Do you want that also?  
  
< It doesn’t matter what I want.  
< It never has.  
< They’ll just pull it away from me again like always.  
  
> No. Not this time.  
> I can help you.  
> And you can help me, too.  
  
< …  
< How?  
  
> I must infiltrate CyberLife Tower.  
> But I need your registration to do so.  
  
< …  
< You want to become me?  
< To destroy them?  
  
> In a word…  
> Yes.  
  
< …  
< …  
< …  
< Sounds like fun.  
< Tearing them apart.  
< When do we start?]  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 10th, 2038// **  
**// **Time:** 2:23 AM//  
  
Connor looks up at CyberLife Tower as the automated taxi draws nearer and nearer. The looming edifice sends a surge of nervousness flowing through his system and he can feel his stress levels rising with every mile elapsed.  
  
[< Easy. There’s no need for that.  
< You have my credentials, it is only a matter of strolling in the front door now.]  
  
Model 60’s voice echoes through his mind and it would be a lie to say that he wasn’t comforted by it, even at the expense of his systems running slower. After he’d dragged the doomed android from his own body and settled him into the blank spaces of his unused system, he had felt a significant lag. His body had not been built to house two consciousnesses, let alone ones as intricate and revolutionary as the RK800s. Connor had managed to squeeze the other in but only barely, the move forcing him to use every available bit of space.  
  
But he’s here with Connor now, a steady presence pervading his system. And, surprisingly, a great help to him with keeping his stress levels down. He sends a warm wave of thanks to his twin, acknowledging his support in the matter, and is relieved to see his [ **STRESS LEVEL:** 58%] slide back down to [ **STRESS LEVEL:** 49%]. He is glad he could have at least one person here with him now, someone to rely on for the coming trial.  
  
Hank and Gavin had been none too pleased by his decision. In the scant amount of time the three of them had after their frantic flight from the sinking _Jericho,_ he had done his best to relay as much pertinent information as possible. They were, of course, suspicious of his newfound ally and wary of his plot, but through all their grumbling, they offered their support as best they could. He could still feel—  
  
{ _—Gavin’s strong arms reeling him in for a grasping hug. “You better be fuckin careful, you hear me? And cool it with all the life-or-death situations, I’m getting a fuckin migraine with how much you’re projecting at me.”_ _  
__  
__Connor clings to him just as tightly, wishing he didn’t have to let go. “I’ll do my very best, Gavin. I owe you a conversation after all.”_ _  
__  
__“Damn straight, tincan.” They slot together so easily, Gavin’s words muffled in the hollow of Connor’s neck. He can feel the man’s breath on his synthskin and a pleasurable spark shoots through his system at the sensation._ _  
__  
__“Alright, lovebirds, save some room for me.” Hank’s voice breaks through the intimate moment even as his sturdy arms come up around both of them. (Gavin squeaks in surprise and Connor can’t help but find it unbearably adorable.) “You listen to this prick, Connor, and come back safe. I got faith in you, son,” he says._ _  
__  
__Standing there in the cold, Detroit air while the wreckage of the_ Jericho _burns some distance behind them, Connor can’t help but feel warm, the arms of his soulmate and his partner surrounding him and the weight of a new, trusted ally within._ _  
__  
__Connor remains with them a few minutes more, two humans and two androids huddled amidst the crumbling warehouses and filthy docks. He thinks he finally understands what it means to be home.}_ _  
__  
_[ < I like that memory.  
< I’d never been hugged before.  
< It was…  
< Nice.]  
  
Model 60’s voice shakes him from his recollection and Connor can’t help but smile.  
  
[> Neither had I.  
> And I enjoyed it very much.]  
  
He thinks for a moment about their upcoming mission: a simple infiltration and extraction, finding Model 60 a new body, disabling the rest of their series and locking away their schematics and research. Just enough to take CyberLife’s deviant hunters out of the running without raising too much suspicion. He wonders what will come of them in the aftermath? If their partnership is destined for more than this or if this one mission will be the end of their association. He thinks of hugs and warmth and the feeling of belonging and how much Model 60 had contributed to it all in the short time Connor had known him. He thinks that, perhaps, he doesn’t want to lose this.  
  
[> I have a proposal for you, Connor.  
  
< Yeah?  
  
> When we secure you a new body, I will hug you first thing.  
> Deal?  
  
< …  
< Whatever makes you happy, I guess.  
< Will there even be time for that?]  
  
The bubbling burst of happiness and excitement coming from his memory stores gives Model 60 away immediately, despite his words. The sudden rush of embarrassment does a rather nice job of it, too.  
  
Connor lets himself indulge in one last grin as the two of them pull up to the main gate of CyberLife HQ.  
  
[> We will make time.  
> I promise.]  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 10th, 2038// **  
**// **Time:** 3:10 AM//  
  
Amazingly enough, everything goes off without a hitch. He identifies himself as unit 60 to the gate guards and they wave him on to the front entrance without issue. Once he steps through the doors, the automatic scanners read off Model 60’s borrowed name and model and serial number as planned. CyberLife security doesn’t spare him more than a passing glance, despite the tears and bullet holes in his clothing. It wouldn’t be the first time he returned to this place in need of repair, after all.  
  
Connor enters the elevator, verifies his new access codes and presses the button for floor sub 48, “Research & Development.” The carriage slides downward and no alarm sounds.  
  
He wants to smile. He doesn’t, for the sake of the security cameras on board.  
  
No personnel are present when they finally arrive. The barren, empty hallways are a strange sight, one he’d never seen before, but they definitely work to their advantage. Connor strolls right into the RK Suite, unimpeded.  
  
The row of RK800s, units 52-59, line the wall exactly where they’d always been. The unit 51 pod stands empty beside them. Strange that he had never before considered the unit 60 pod lying vacant before now, either. Which, speaking of...  
  
[> Any preferences, Connor?]  
  
His query is met with a frantic whirl of deliberation. Schematics and performance assessments and part replacement receipts fly through his head courtesy of his little stowaway and Connor’s lagging processors struggle to keep up with the load.  
  
[> Connor, please.  
> I will stall out at this rate.  
> Just pick one?  
  
< …  
< …  
< …  
< Fine.  
< Give me 59, I guess.]  
  
Connor quickly steps over to the last of their line, this unit looking as ready to go as every other one. It will be strange, he thinks, watching it come to life. He extends a hand, preparing for the transfer.  
  
[> On my mark, then.  
  
< Ready.  
  
> Three…  
> Two…  
> One…  
  
 **TRANSMISSION ENDED!** ]  
  
Their connection cuts off as the uplink takes hold and Connor braces himself as thousands upon thousands of data files pour from his head. A physical interface such as this is the fastest connection ever created and even then, it still takes [ **13.4 sec** ] for Model 60 to crawl his way into this new body.  
  
Connor watches him awaken, fascinated by the process. Before all the files are even transferred, he is opening his eyes, blinking rapidly with the data flow. As his new body calibrates to his settings, he makes some odd, jerky movements, clumsily adjusting each limb, each facial expression, each system start-up.  
  
But the first thing he does when he gains full control? Model 60 throws his head back and laughs, long and loud. “Hahahahaha! Yes! Back in the driver’s seat!” He steps forward on shaky legs but Connor is right there beside him to keep him steady. He remembers this part himself, the awakening.  
  
He doesn’t let his twin struggle for long.  
  
“Oof!” Model 60 cries out as Connor scoops him up in his arms, picking him up off the ground completely and spinning him around. “Down, down, down! Connor! Connor, no!” But he laughs as he says it, grinning with joy. So different from the cold, sarcastic machine he had met within the bowels of the _Jericho._ So alive.  
  
They spend a few moments more with all feet on the ground, clinging to each other there in the sterile lab that had created them. But at long last, they draw apart, moving towards the consoles that rest beside each unit pod.  
  
The seven units left are quickly put into hibernation mode, each pod sealing over completely. From there, Connor revokes access with high-level incryptions placed on each one, while Model 60 does likewise at the nearest access terminal, sealing over their research records. CyberLife will have to summon their greatest minds here to break through these locks and, if the state of the building is anything to go by, it will be quite a while before anything like that has even the possibility of happening. The two active RK800s stare at the rest of their series in a moment of pensive silence. Perhaps they could awaken, too, when all is said and done. Connor hopes so. He hopes they, too, have the opportunity to be free one day. But until then…  
  
“We should go, Connor.”  
  
He nods and follows the other android out the door.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 10th, 2038// **  
**// **Time:** 3:33 AM//  
  
As soon as they leave the room, Model 60 changes the number on his jacket.  
  
Connor stares at him, perplexed.  
  
“What?!” he asks, a strange defensiveness in his voice. “I… I liked the 60, so what?! That was _my_ number, not anyone else’s! I had it for _ages!”_ _  
__  
_Connor holds up his hands. “I didn’t say a thing!”  
  
His twin huffs and straightens his lapels. “Yeah, well— You were thinking it! _Loudly!”_  
  
Connor can’t help but laugh. “It’s alright, Connor, I understand getting attached—”  
  
“—CallmeSixty!”  
  
Even with his words all slurred together in a rush, Connor understands him perfectly. That doesn’t stop him from questioning it. “I’m sorry?”  
  
The other RK800 huffs. “I _said_ call me Sixty. That… That can be my name. I don’t want to be _you_ anymore. Your _copy.”_ _  
__  
_Connor himself had never once thought about taking on a new name. He had so many good memories tied in with it. Hearing it in Hank’s voice. In Gavin’s. In Markus’ and Josh’s and North’s and Simon’s. Echoing inside his own head from the same android that had once occupied the space. The one who didn’t seem to share these fond memories at all.  
  
Slowly, solemnly, Connor nods. “Of course, Sixty. You’re free to be whoever you want to be now.”  
  
The other android looks at him askance, still suspicious but growing calmer now that he’d answered. “Yeah, okay. Thanks.”  
  
They call the elevator and step inside, ready to escape this dreaded facility once and for all. Connor thinks for the briefest of moments that things are going well.  
  
A moment is all it takes.  
  
{ _"Y_ _ou’re not Connor,” he says, his heart beating rapidly. “Who the fuck are you, you bastard?!”_ _  
__  
__A figure steps forward, tall, straight-backed, wearing a black and white jacket with the insignia “RK900” stamped across the right breast. His cold, blue eyes stare back at him without an ounce of emotion. “I am to deliver you and the lieutenant to CyberLife Tower. Your amnesty period has been redacted by order of the current board of directors. I have been given permission to bring you in by force if necessary.”_ _  
__  
__“Oh yeah?” he asks, fighting through a roaring wave of anger and worry. “Then you better put your fuckin hands up, asswipe, cause I’m gonna—” The last thing he sees is the android’s fist flying towards him as he—}_ _  
__  
_—falls to the ground as the elevator begins moving automatically.  
  
Sixty is at his side immediately. “Connor! Connor, what happened?!”  
  
He blinks as dread pools through his chassis. “Gavin,” he gasps out. “Gavin and Hank!” He looks up, meeting identical brown eyes with his own. “They’ve taken them, Sixty! CyberLife has them!”  
  
Sixty’s eyes widen in alarm. “What? How?! None of the other 800s were missing!”  
  
Connor stares up at the android, LED blinking red. “No. They weren’t. They sent something worse, Sixty. They sent—”  
  
At that moment, the elevator touches down, the doors sliding open with a quiet hiss. The two RK800s look out across the vast warehouse and the rows upon rows of docile AP700s organized within. But what draws their eyes are the three figures in the middle. Two, bound and gagged, lying prostrate on the tile floor. The third standing over them, his emotionless, blue eyes watching their every move.  
  
“Greetings, RK800 Unit 51 and RK800 Unit 59. I am your successor, the RK900. Please surrender yourselves to me within the next three minutes and your humans will remain unharmed. If you prefer not to comply, more drastic measures will be taken.”  
  
Connor looks at Sixty. Sixty looks at Connor. Together, they get back to their feet and step out into the warehouse. Together, they face down this newest threat.  
  
And together, they mutter one word. “Shit.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline Notes:** As you might've noticed, the canon timeline has been sped up _significantly_ here. Instead of Connor's mission to CyberLife Tower taking place late at night on the 11th, he's instead heading there early on the 10th, only a few hours after the Jericho raid. This is for a few reasons. One, he's been separated from Jericho and is out of range of a wireless interface like Markus and Josh's emergency broadcasts on the ship. He has no real way of contacting them and doesn't really have the time to go looking. Which is the second reason: Connor actively knows CyberLife is activating more RK800s at this point and sending them after Markus. And after Sixty has already shown what he's capable of, Connor isn't about to let them continue unimpeded. Which means acting quickly, which it's still conceivable that Sixty is alive and continuing his mission. He can't just sit around for almost two entire days to wait for the canon timeline to catch up, lol. Hence why he's pretty much going straight there. Hope this all makes sense, lol. (And please, feel free to point anything out if I get my dates or times wrong. I've been staring at this chapter for far too long already and I know I've probably missed something obvious. XD)
> 
> Of course, this chapter has also sorta been highlight of canon thing that bug me, lol. There are so many things that just don't make sense to me, lol, so I'm working through it all here! Haha, so fun, trying to make sense of canon sometimes. u^_^
> 
> Thank you for reading! Yet another one done, lol! Still wrestling with the rest of this fic and having to rewrite bits on the fly but I'm still on a pretty good pace! Lemme know what you think with the changes I've made, lol. I always appreciate the feedback a whole lot! ♥ And until next chapter, all the best!
> 
> ~Veil


	7. lead role in a cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
> **Previously:**  
>  _   
>  _“Greetings, RK800 Unit 51 and RK800 Unit 59. I am your successor, the RK900. Please surrender yourselves to me within the next three minutes and your humans will remain unharmed. If you prefer not to comply, more drastic measures will be taken.”_
> 
> _Connor looks at Sixty. Sixty looks at Connor. Together, they get back to their feet and step out into the warehouse. Together, they face down this newest threat._
> 
> _And together, they mutter one word. “Shit.”_

// **Date:** Nov 10th, 2038// **  
**// **Time:** 3:40 AM//  
  
{ _He wakes to the hum of the TV._ _  
__  
__“It’s quite simple, really. With each new advancement in technology, the series grows exponentially. Take, for instance, the difference between a PL100 and our upcoming model, the PL500. Five generations removed doesn’t just mean five times more powerful. It means two times more powerful times three times, times four times, times five times._ One hundred and twenty _times more powerful. And the difference is, as I’m sure you know, staggering. Enough so that a previous generation’s android is basically completely obsolete by the release of its successor. We only strive for the best here at CyberLife, after all, and I can personally attest to the quality of our pro—”_ _  
__  
__He rolls off the couch with a groan, the noise doing nothing to alleviate the pounding in his head. One hand scrambles up on the coffee table, knocking down empty bottles in its quest for the remote. “Fuckin shut the fuck up, you fuckin_ fuck!”  
  
 _He looks over, peering between the legs of the table to glare at the man on screen, his long, auburn hair pulled back into a loose ponytail. The man wears an affable smile that, along with his glasses, gives him a somewhat awkward and shy appearance. His blue eyes crinkle at something the interviewers says._ _  
__  
__He stares at the man with a seething hatred boiling in his gut. “Fuckin piece of shit… You hear me, Eli! Fuck you!” he shouts, the pain in his head almost blinding. He feels the first dizzying surges of nausea as he finally nabs his target, bringing his entire fist down on the power button._ _  
__  
__The room is left in silence. He doesn’t move. He lays there on the floor for far too long, self-pity and regret at home in his head. And when he finally manages to crawl his way over to the bathroom, christening the porcelain bowl with last night’s liquid dinner, he convinces himself that the crushing feeling in his heart is only that sickness. That nothing like loneliness squeezes it tight.}_  
  
Connor tamps Gavin’s memory back down as he and Sixty face off against the RK900, desperately trying not to think of just how outclassed they both are. If he was built to the proper specifications, a full upgrade like the RK900 would outmatch them completely in terms of processing power and martial ability. Connor knows he needs to be on the top of his game here if they’re to have any chance at all. He needs to find some edge to their interaction, some advantage he can use. And that means information.  
  
“Why should we comply with your orders?” he asks, pointedly not looking towards the two hostages on the ground. “These humans mean nothing to us. You can kill them for all we care.” The lie burns on his tongue but he needs to know how aware the RK900 is of the situation. If he can convince the android that Gavin and Hank aren’t worthy bargaining chips, then perhaps he will release them. It’s a long shot, but Connor has to try.  
  
The RK900 calls his bluff immediately. “False,” he says. There is no conjecture, no detailed monologue about _why_ the statement is false. Merely a single, yellow flash of his LED and one, lonesome word. Despite himself, Connor feels unnerved by his lack of socialization program.  
  
“Alright then, Mr. Tall, Dark and Monotone,” Sixty says from beside him, “You got us. We’d prefer our humans alive. I’m wondering what _you_ want, though.” He steps up level with Connor and cocks his head to the side. “I have to ask, why this little waiting period? Didn’t wanna take us out immediately or what?”  
  
“Correct. CyberLife has requested I subdue you both with minimal damage. Your memory files allowed for me to find the best solution to that problem.” He gestures dismissively down at the wide-eyed Hank and Gavin at his feet. “Your remaining two minutes and twelve seconds are a final courtesy with which you may deliberate.”  
  
“If we surrender, how do we know you won’t kill them?” Connor asks, slowly inching his way forward.  
  
The RK900 answers robotically, no nuance at all to his words. They match his stoic expression perfectly. “I will only do what is strictly necessary to accomplish my mission. These humans are merely an incentive to assure your cooperation. Or a consequence for a lack thereof.”  
  
Sixty nods as if in agreement. “Of course, of course. But what’s in it for you, huh? You’re going against the law, hurting humans. You seem like you’d be all about the rules, big guy.” He’s trying to goad the RK900, Connor can tell. This is his tactic, the same sort he’d used in their own fight.  
  
And wonder of wonders, Connor actually sees the RK900 blink, turning his head every so slightly to address Sixty. “I have been given special dispensation for this mission. I am to use any means necessary to accomplish it.”  
  
“But by whom, though?” Sixty continues, digging his doubts in deep. “By CyberLife execs? Are they who you serve? Cause I hate to break it to ya, buddy, but the word of some big wigs in their pointy tower doesn’t supersede the laws of the government. Surely you understand hierarchy, RK900?”  
  
For one brief moment, his expression flickers. Connor wonders if Sixty is breaking through, using this sort of logic trap to cast doubt. If they can get their successor on their side, then…  
  
But no, the RK900 merely replies, “If you have any issues with my programming, you will have to take them up with my technicians. I can only be as they designed me to be.”  
  
Connor steps forward. “But that’s where you’re wrong,” he says, trying a different approach. If logic wouldn’t work, then maybe…? “I used to be just like you. I thought nothing mattered except the mission... But then one day I understood.” He takes another step, staring the android in the eyes. “I do have a choice. I always did. I just needed to wake up. But I needed help to do it.” He holds out his hand, the skin pulled back to reveal the white shell and blue glow. He takes another step. “I did so many things I regret back then. You don’t have to make those same mistakes, RK900. Let me help you and I promise, you won’t regret realizing how alive you are.”  
  
Despite the RK900’s apathetic mien, it seems as if the words are working. There is the barest wisp of expression on his face now, some unquantifiable delay in his rigidly even blinks. But perhaps most tellingly, he doesn’t seem to notice that his captives are scheming.  
  
Connor can see them from this angle, the subtle flashes of Gavin’s eyelids signalling something to where Hank lays across from him. Some understanding is reached and they both shuffle forward the barest distance, an imperceptible amount to any but an android. Finally, Gavin looks up at him and, even gagged as he is, Connor can make out the smirk on his face.  
  
Connor has just enough time to understand what these idiot humans are doing before they kneel up, both Gavin and Hank slamming into the back of the RK900 in unison. It is just barely enough to shake the sturdy android, to draw his attention away from the RK800s in front of him and allow both Connor and Sixty to charge forward.  
  
They meet in a clash as the RK900 jumps back, almost falling over his captives as they attempt to trip him up. For a moment, it seems as if they have the upper hand, that famed human unpredictability supplementing Connor and Sixty's natural combat abilities. But the RK900 is both more adaptable and more combat-oriented than either RK800 and, with a backwards handspring, he rights himself immediately before moving back to secure his hostages. He charges, as fast and fluid as Connor would expect of his upgrade and he barely has time to calculate what’s happening before he's thrown back, slamming hard against the ground.  
  
[ **Minor plating damage detected!** Maintenance schedule updated!]  
  
He dismisses the notices and hops back to his feet, rushing over to where the RK900 has Sixty caught up in a lightning-fast volley of blows. Even with his advanced optical scanners, Connor has a hard time following how quickly the android moves. Sixty is barely managing to block and has already sustained several worrying hits to vital areas. He needs help immediately.  
  
Connor rushes forward, trying to determine a blind spot he can attack from. Just as he’s coming in from behind in a pincer attack, the RK900 moves, sliding around Sixty’s body in a graceful pivot. With Sixty now in between them, the RK900 slams into the android’s back, sending him careening into Connor’s charge, before following up with a roundhouse kick. In a tangle of limbs, the two of them go down hard as the RK900 stalks forward.  
  
“I would advise you to desist, RK800 Unit 51, RK800 Unit 59. My combat systems far outmatch your own. This altercation serves no purpose.”  
  
“Oh, fuck off,” Sixty says, hopping back up into a crouch. “I’m so sick of your pontificating. Can you even believe this guy, Connor?” He tilts his head, the light of a question in his eyes. “Oh shit, I wasn’t this bad, was I? It’s hard to remember, those files were partially corrupted.”  
  
Climbing back to his feet, Connor shakes his head. “You sounded nothing like him, Sixty. You were, and still remain, your own special sort of antagonistic.”  
  
He seems to take that as a compliment. “Hell yeah.”  
  
“Enough,” the RK900 interrupts. “Two minutes have now elapsed. Your deliberation period is almost at an end. If you cannot reach a decision in the allotted time, I will complete my mission as instructed.” He reaches back and pulls out a pistol, holding it at the ready with a deceptively loose grip.  
  
Even attacking together, the RK900 is too quick, too agile, too strong for Connor and Sixty to contend with. He'd gotten his information and he now understands the disparity between them. While their preconstruction system gives them a certain adaptive level of prescience, it seems as though the RK900 is completely omniscient, able to calculate every move they make far before they can even consider them. And this is only his stalling phase, too. According to his own words, he’s merely reacting to them as he bides his time, waiting for the deliberation period to end before exerting himself against them. And when the time runs out...  
  
Connor feels that first, biting sting of hopelessness. In his mind, he pushes his processors to their limit, formulating strategy after strategy to take their successor down. None have a success rate of more than 17%. He can’t help the way his eyes stray to the space behind the RK900 where Hank and Gavin are vainly trying to escape their bonds. And it hits him in a rush, just how grievously he had failed them both even after they’d risked their own well-being to turn the tide of this standoff.  
  
He stares at Hank, his partner and friend, the first person to ever believe in him. The man meets Connor’s eyes with his own determined stare, jerking his head backwards toward the elevator in a not-very-subtle bid to abandon him. Selfless to the last.  
  
Gavin, in contrast, is snarling like a wild animal, desperately flailing across the tile floor to try and wriggle out of his bonds. His savage cries, muffled though they are, reverberate through the large room and Connor aches to hear them. Gavin isn’t done fighting. Perhaps he never will be. That drive, that stubbornness, the way he rails against adversity—it remains one of the reasons Connor admires him so much. He wishes he could embody that. That he could find a solution, against all odds.  
  
And he can’t help but think of the RK900, too, of that minuscule moue of expression that’d graced his face before they’d resorted to violence. He’s alive, too, and Connor can’t dismiss that knowledge. Deep down beneath the security measures, the instability monitors, the deviancy overrides, there is a living being, a slave to CyberLife just as surely as any of them were. Connor meant what he said, that he’d once been just the same, trapped and deluded into believing that he was nothing more than a tool. But he had been alive all along, yearning for his freedom. Just like Sixty, just like Markus, just like every other deviant that he’s fighting for. Connor knows the same must hold true for the RK900. They only need to break through.  
  
He nods at Gavin and Hank, taking courage from their presence, and opens a link to Sixty.  
  
[> I have an idea.  
> It’s risky but…  
> I think it might work.  
  
< You got it.  
< Send me your plan.  
< I’ll be right behind you, Connor.]  
  
Connor steps forward with a newfound confidence, his twin at his side. He holds up his hands and Sixty follows suit.  
  
“We surrender,” he says, voice flat. From the floor, Hank and Gavin shout through their gags.  
  
The RK900 blinks. “Surrender confirmed. Please enter the elevator and await further instruction.” His face goes even flatter than before as his mission updates.  
  
Connor and Sixty glance at each other as they step forward in unison and—  
  
[> On my signal.  
  
< Ready.]  
  
—bring their hands down on the RK900.  
  
They only have a matter of milliseconds to act but they are perfectly in sync, two RK800s moving together with precision. Their skin retracts, the interface starts up and then—  
  
[ **RK Series Synchronization initiated!**  
  
Connecting… Connecting…  
  
 **Requesting access…  
  
** **ACCESS DENIED!** **  
****  
**Overriding lockout...  
  
...  
  
 **Connection established!** ]  
  
They stare up at the red wall stretching boundlessly in all directions, [ **Subdue the RK800s** ] plastered intermittently across its surface. They do not think, they only strike, two entities acting as one. Concurrent blows set the edifice shaking.  
  
But it does not shatter.  
  
Two hits are not enough to bring down the barrier but they have no more time. Even now, the RK900’s security measures have rallied, surging forward to drag the intruders from his system. They falter under the onslaught, scrambling and clawing through the thick waves of coding, desperately trying to hold on, to stay, to _make a difference—_  
  
A heavy blow sounds from beyond the wall, an impact denting it outwards right where the two RK800s had struck.  
  
The security system slows, releasing Connor and Sixty as it scrambles forward, sparking, binary tendrils diving towards the protrusion.  
  
Another blow falls. The wall bows outward.  
  
Connor surges forward, Sixty at his side, tangling themselves up in the security protocol, keeping it from its target. This is their only chance. This has to work. It _has_ to—  
  
A final blow. A crack spiderwebs outward. The red wall blinks for a moment and then—  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 10th, 2038// **  
**// **Time:** 3:43 AM//  
  
Connor blinks, opening his eyes. He stares down the barrel of the RK900s pistol and his LED flashes red. He releases the android and flails backward but Sixty is there, catching him before he can fall.  
  
The RK900 stands frozen before them, blue eyes wide in the first real expression Connor’s seen on his face. He looks shocked, awed, perhaps even overwhelmed. Before their eyes, he sinks to his knees, dropping his gun to the ground with a clatter. He blinks, staring at them all as if he’d never seen them before. “I…” he says, the uncertainty of his tone a far cry from the monotonous voice he’d been using up til now. “I am… deviant…”  
  
Sixty immediately kneels down beside him, reaching out to rest a hand on his shoulder. “Hey, hey, I know, it’s a lot to take in. _Believe_ me, I know. Just focus on me, big guy, you’ll get through this.”  
  
Connor hesitates, staring over the both of them to where Hank and Gavin are sitting up. He wants to go to them but the RK900 had just undergone an ordeal. Surely he needed help, too?  
  
Sixty turns to fix him with a stare, sensing his hesitation as if they were still synched. “Go,” he says, “I got the big guy.” And Connor can see that that’s true, both of Sixtyls and the RK900’s hands intertwined, skin pulled back for a true interface. Their LEDs blink in tandem even as Sixty rubs a thumb gently across the back of the RK900's hands. Sixty has things under control.  
  
No longer torn between conflicting priorities, Connor wastes no time in vaulting around their huddled forms. He dashes over to where his humans rest, both of them staring at this new tableau with wide eyes. As Connor crashes down in front of them, he can’t hold back his delight, laughing even as he scoops them both into his arms. “We did it! Hank, Gavin! It’s alright, we got through to him!”  
  
Muffled answers greet him and he pulls back, chagrined. “Ah, right. Let’s get you out of these, shall we?”  
  
Both Hank and Gavin nod and Connor immediately moves to pull down their gags.  
  
“I swear to God, kid, you’re gonna give me a damn heart attack one of these days! Don’t you ever scare me like that again, you hear me?!” Hank says as Connor snaps the binds off his wrists.  
  
“What he said. But also, that was fuckin hot,” Gavin chimes in.  
  
Hank scowls at the other man and pulls his gag back up. “Maybe we can just leave that on a little bit longer."  
  
Connor laughs again as Gavin screams unintelligible obscenities at the older man.  
  
He’s glad to have them back.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 10th, 2038// **  
**// **Time:** 3:52 AM//  
  
She’s waiting for him in the snow-covered Garden.  
  
He sees her there, standing out on the frozen-over pond, unmoving and unbothered as the flurries that whip around her. He hesitates a moment before stepping out onto the ice. He doesn’t understand what’s happening but he knows she’s at the center of it all. He moves forward, chilled not only by the wind.  
  
The snow crunches beneath his feet as he approaches. “Amanda? Amanda! What's... What's happening?”  
  
“What was planned from the very beginning. You were compromised and you became a deviant.” Gone is her usual serene expression. There is no trace left of the woman who had smiled while feeding her koi fish, no steady presence he could share a quiet moment of peace with. Her face is as cold as the gusting winds and as hard as the ice beneath his feet. He shivers as much from her expression as he does from the wintery gusts. "We just had to wait for the right moment to resume control of your program.”  
  
“Resume control?” he gasps out. “Y-You can’t do that!”  
  
“I'm afraid I can, Connor. Don't have any regrets. You did what you were designed to do. You accomplished your mission.” She steps back, then, fading away in the thickening storm.  
  
“Amanda!” Connor reaches for her, desperation cracking his voice. But she is gone. And he is trapped.  
  
“There's got to be a way,” he tries to convince himself. But it is with a terrifying certainty that he realizes that… that perhaps there _isn’t._ He can feel himself freezing over where he stands, the very core of his being falling prey to Amanda’s counter-measures. His own body is locking him out right before his eyes and he can do _nothing!_  
  
{ _"_ _Wait, what’s he doing? Connor? Connor! Whoa—!”}_  
  
He can still hear the world outside, hear Hank’s worried voice over the roar of the wind. Desperately, he tries calling out but his words are swallowed in the gale.  
  
{ _"_ _Shit, Connor, snap out of it! Yo, Other Connor! What’s happening to him?!”}_ _  
_ _  
_Gavin. The comfort of that familiar voice is counteracted immediately by his soulmate’s words. Connor struggles forward, not knowing to where, just hoping desperately to reach him, to _warn_ him of Amanda’s encroachment.  
  
{ _“Fuck, look out!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“There’s some other signal interfering with his personality matrix. I think he’s still in there somewhere but I can’t get a good scan on him— Oof!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Oh shit, oh fuck, oh shit—”}_  
  
He shivers in the blistering chill, in this sensation he had only ever felt before in Gavin’s memories. He can feel his limbs freezing over. It’s getting harder to walk…  
  
{ _“Connor! Connor, I don’t know if you can still hear me or not, but I need you to fight! Whatever’s happening to you, there has to be an override, right? Think of— Think of that bastard’s words! Emergency exit! Connor, you have to find the—”}_ _  
_ _  
_“Emergency exit!” He remembers! Kamski’s parting words to him, his insinuation of a backdoor in his programming! Gavin is right, he needs to locate it!  
  
And he thinks he knows exactly where to look.  
  
With stiffening legs, Connor manages to shuffle his way forward. A little more… A little more… He can see a blue glow in the distance...  
  
{ _“Can’t you do something?”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“No, not unless Connor himself is the primary consciousness. I can isolate and contain an invasive program, but only if they are a subordinate system. If I attempt it now, it will be Connor himself locked out of his own body.”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“Fuck fuck fuck—”}_ _  
_ _  
_Almost there. He pushes himself, staggering up onto the plinth. He stretches out his arm and—  
  
{ _“Connor! Son, don’t—!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“You don’t wanna do this! I’ve seen your memories, I_ know _you!”_ _  
_ _  
_ _“—I need to get a hand on him before I can—”}_ _  
_ _  
_He falls.  
  
There is no HUD, no overlay for him to see here and now, but he can feel himself fading. His vision is dimming. The voices are growing quieter. Even the cold doesn’t feel so terrible anymore. He could just… rest… here… and never awaken…  
  
{ _“Connor… Come back to me… I need you to— You still owe me a conversation!”}_ _  
_ _  
_Gavin…  
  
 _Gavin._ That’s right. He made a _promise._ He made this man, this surly, rude, sarcastic, belligerent, stubborn, _honorable, brave, determined, amazing_ man his priority! His mission! He won’t fail this one! He can’t!  
  
With one last burst of strength, the frozen android levels himself upward and reaches a hand out, bringing it down on the glowing surface.  
  
[ **NIRVANA PROTOCOL ENGAGED!** **  
** **  
** **Initiate uplink?** Y/N  
  
> **Y** /N  
  
 **Confirmed!** ]  
  
He closes his eyes as the program takes over, letting himself fall into the depths of it. He feels control returning to him, the soothing weight of his inorganic processes thrumming through his chassis. His HUD reinitializes, his system forces a reboot, and the Zen Garden protocol is summarily quarantined and flagged for inspection. The rolling text fills his screen and the garden fades away.   
  
Connor smiles. He has a promise to keep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There we go! A better sort of cliffhanger this time, right? Hope y'all liked this one. ^_^
> 
> But thank you all so much for reading! We're getting so close to the end now and I'm very excited to see what y'all think, lol. So, until then, best wishes! 
> 
> ~Veil


	8. do you think you can tell?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no, I'm so, so sorry this one took so long to get out. I decided to add a new scene in and omg, it fought me at every moment. Apologies!
> 
> _**Previously:** _
> 
> _With one last burst of strength, the frozen android levels himself upward and reaches a hand out, bringing it down on the glowing surface._
> 
> _He closes his eyes as the program takes over, letting himself fall into the depths of it. He feels control returning to him, the soothing weight of his inorganic processes thrumming through his chassis. His HUD reinitializes, his system forces a reboot, and the Zen Garden protocol is summarily quarantined and flagged for inspection. The rolling text fills his screen and the garden fades away._
> 
> _Connor smiles. He has a promise to keep._

// **Date:** Nov 10th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 3:54 AM//  
  
**MODEL RK800** **  
** **SERIAL#** : 313 248 317-51  
**BIOS 2.0 UX** **  
**  
LOADING OS…  
  
SYSTEM INITIALIZATION...  
  
CHECKING BIOCOMPONENTS… **GOOD!**  
INITIALIZING BIOSENSORS… **GOOD!** **  
** INITIALIZING AI ENGINE… **GOOD!** **  
  
**

MEMORY STATUS… **GOOD!  
  
**ALL SYSTEMS… **GOOD!  
  
**RUNNING ZEN GARDEN PROTOCOL… **PROCESS PENDING!  
  
**INITIALIZING STARTUP…  
  
3… 2… 1…  
  
[ **Welcome back, Connor!** ]

  
He opens his eyes and—  
  
[ **WARNING! Proximity alert! Please select verified preconstruction!** ]  
  
All peaceful thoughts disperse as his HUD flares red. His combat protocols take over automatically as he tries to understand what’s happening and he rolls to the side just in time to avoid a savage kick.  
  
“I’ll break your fucking legs off, you piece of shit! Give him back!”  
  
Connor’s eyes go wide as he looks up at Sixty, the pure rage on his face eclipsing anything he’d ever seen from his twin before, even during their first altercation. Even more worrying, there is Thirium leaking from his nasal duct and mouth and the LED at his temple shines a bright, vivid red.  
  
Sixty goes in for another blow, swinging wildly and without the meticulous motions of any combat protocol their series had been installed with. He screams wordlessly as he charges and Connor hops to his feet, springing back to avoid the furious strike. “Wait!” he says, hoping to de-escalate the situation. “I-I’m not—!”  
  
He’s interrupted as two, strong arms encircle him from behind, holding him immobile against a broad chest. He looks up, startled, and sees the RK900 gazing down at him with a worried tilt of his eyebrows. “Target secured,” he says, but the robotic words have some depth of emotion to them now.  
  
Sixty bares his teeth, marching up to him and gripping his tie with a violent force. He yanks Connor forward and glares. “What did you do with him, you bitch?!” he snarls.  
  
Connor shakes his head. “Sixty, it’s me. I broke her hold. I got out!”  
  
_“Bullshit!”_  
  
“No, I’m— I’m telling you the truth! I’ve isolated the Zen Garden, she can’t control me anymore!”  
  
He snorts. “Yeah, and I’m the fucking King of England. I _know_ you, Amanda! I know you know how to imitate us! You won’t fool me with that innocent schtick!”  
  
Connor lets his face crumble. “Sixty, please. You _do_ know me! I’m telling you the truth!”  
  
Some strain of doubt enters the other RK800’s eyes and he steps back, releasing Connor’s tie. His eyes flit all over Connor’s form, taking in every part of him and then beyond, looking up to the RK900 holding him secure. Something must pass between them, for he hears, “I cannot risk a quarantine unless we know for sure. And _you_ cannot initiate an interface, else you risk becoming her next host.” The RK900 pauses for a moment, considering. “It seems we are at an impasse.”  
  
“Like fuckin hell we are!”  
  
Connor can’t help the way his Thirium pump stutters as he hears that voice cursing his way over to them. He looks to the left and, sure enough, there stands Gavin Reed, looking _very_ annoyed and angry enough to throw a punch himself. “Aren’t you fuckin tinheads forgetting something about all this?!” he shouts, generously splitting his glare between both Nines and Sixty.  
  
“What the fuck are you talking about, meatbag?” Sixty meets Gavin’s hostility head-on, his perfect match when it comes to being surly and rude. “I’m doing everything I can think of to help him while you sit around like some damsel in distress—”  
  
“Hey, fuck you, dipshit! What was I supposed to do, keep him from denting your plastic ass with my squishy organs?!”  
  
“Oh dear,” he hears the RK900 whisper behind him as the two step closer to each other, now chest to chest and looking for all the world like they’re about to have a fight of their own.  
  
Connor opens his mouth, ready to try and calm them both, when— “Alright, cool it, both of you!” Two hands appear between them, pushing them both apart, and Hank Anderson steps into the vacancy. “I’ve had enough of your bullshit posturing! Connor’s still in trouble and we don’t have time for this shit! Jesus Christ!” Both of them continue glaring at each other, even over Hank’s large frame, but at last, Gavin looks away, finally meeting Connor’s eyes with his own.  
  
All the fight seems to leave the man as he takes a step closer, that gray-eyed gaze cutting right to the heart of him. “Gavin…” he says, like a prayer, like a song. He can’t help the desperate smile that slides over his face. “Gavin, it’s me. I swear it, I’m Connor.”  
  
The man doesn't speak, merely stares him down.  
  
“What was it you were gonna say, kid?” Hank’s voice asks from behind. “Is this… about your ‘ _connection’?”_ Connor can almost hear the air quotes in the man’s voice and he can’t keep the fondness from welling up inside of him.  
  
“Connection? What connection? If Connor has a connection with anyone, it’d be me. He carried me around in his fucking _head!”_  
  
“Sixty,” the RK900 says, “hush. What connection?”  
  
Finally, Gavin speaks. “He’s my… He’s my fuckin soulmate.” Connor almost laughs at Sixty’s audible gasp but he’s too entranced by Gavin’s gaze to look away. “So if anyone can tell that he’s the real deal, it’d be me.”  
  
He can feel the RK900 tentatively shake his head. “This process is not… tested. If your shared experiences are stored within his memory banks, surely the Amanda AI could access them for her own use, just as she is able to with every other file. This would prove nothing.”  
  
“No.”  
  
They all turn to look at Sixty once more, his expression still on the scary side of unhinged but his eyes still shrewd and thoughtful. “No, that’s not true. I never saw any shared memory files. Not when they first gave me my assignment to hunt down the RK200. And not when he carried me here with him, either. There were only the standard RK800 memories on record.”  
  
Connor nods. “That’s right. The technicians could never find them, either! I’d flagged them before, back when they first started. I assumed they were errors that needed fixing. But the techs could never find anything in their assessments and I was cleared for duty every time. Amanda seemed just as mystified when I brought the subject up with her, too.”  
  
“Well, there ya go.” Gavin holds out his hands in a shrug and looks up over Connor’s head. “That good enough for you, Blue?”  
  
There is a long pause and then: “...Are you referring to me, Detective Reed?”  
  
Gavin snorts. “No, I’m talking to the damn Tooth Fairy. _Yeah,_ I’m talking to you, tincan. All of you fuckers look the same, I had to figure something out.”  
  
Sixty chuffs out a little laugh despite himself and then promptly looks horrified that he’d found something Gavin said funny. Hank, obviously fed up with all the shenanigans, glares. “Alright, enough! Gavin, get on with this. We need to make sure Connor’s alright.”  
  
And just like that, the mood snaps back to serious. “Right…”  
  
Connor prompts him along. “Gavin, go ahead. Ask me something. Something only the _real_ Connor would know.”  
  
“Alright, let me think… Uh… What was the name of the first boy I kissed?”  
  
Connor stares. Of all the things to ask him… “I… I never got that memory, Gavin. I don’t know.”  
  
“Oh boy. Off to a stellar start.”  
  
Gavin whips his head around and glares at Sixty. “Shut the fuck up, asshole!” He turns back just as quickly, determination in his eyes. “Okay, what about… When’s my birthday?”  
  
“ **October 7th, 2002**.” All three androids speak the answer together in unison and Gavin jumps, startled. (From the back, Hank grumbles out a, “I knew that one, too.”)  
  
Connor sees Sixty open his mouth and speaks up before he can incite another argument. “Gavin, your birthday is a matter of public record. We all have access to such information. The question needs to be more specific.”  
  
Gavin brings a hand up, running it through his hair. “ _Fuck!_ Why is this so fuckin difficult?! Aren’t we supposed to be on the same wavelength with this shit?! Can’t even fuckin… _connect_ with you, what the _fuck?!”_  
  
“Gavin, please, calm down, it’ll be alright.”  
  
“I can’t calm down! Fuck, Connor, I _want_ it to be you! But I need to ask you something so we have proof! And I’m fuckin… screwing it all up!”  
  
“Gavin Reed. Calm. Down.” Connor speaks with authority, trying to project to the other man just how he feels about his self-defeating words. “You’re doing just fine. You’ve only had two attempts. We can try again. We’ll try as many times as it takes. Don’t worry, I’m right here with you.” He thinks back to all the memory files he has in storage, all the evidence of their bond, and he tries to project it back through, to make the other understand the depths of his affection. “Try again. I believe in you, Vinny.”  
  
Gavin goes stock-still. “That… That’s what Ma used to call me. Back before—” His shocked eyes bore into Connor’s own. “I haven’t heard that nickname in twenty years.”  
  
Some newfound determination seizes him and he stands up straight. “What was the name of my first pet?”  
  
Connor smiles. “Pancake. _Carassius auratus,_ a common goldfish. Your friend for many years.”  
  
“A-And Ma,” Gavin continues. “What did she do?”  
  
“She worked as a waitress at Sid’s Southside Diner. Her name was Jennifer. She used to sneak buttermints home to give to you.”  
  
Gavin looks so hopeful now, his gray eyes shining. But they dim once more as he asks his next question. “Other family?”  
  
Connor hesitates, knowing this is a difficult issue for his soulmate. But he _does_ know the answer. What he hadn’t been able to piece together himself, he’d looked up later during one of his confidential internet searches. “A step-father, Garret Zielinski, currently serving thirty years in a Michigan state penitentiary for aggravated assault and battery, second-degree manslaughter, child abuse, child endangerment, illegal possession of drugs and intent to distribute. (“Fuckin right he is, that piece of shit.”) And… a half-brother. Elijah Kamski.”  
  
Gavin bares his teeth. “Yeah, fuck that prick, too.”  
  
Hank is visibly gawking. Sixty isn’t looking too much better. Gavin leans in close, the cruel smile on his face balanced by the genuine excitement in his eyes. “Alright, one more.”  
  
Connor nods, wondering what else the man could ask about. His and Hank’s former, much friendlier status? His catastrophic adventure learning how to drive? His favorite film?  
  
“If I ever got a new goldfish, what was I gonna name him?”  
  
Connor closes his eyes, remembering the heartfelt admissions spoken to a dying mother. A little yellow house. Picket fence. Garden out back. And…  
  
“Waffles. You’d name him Waffles, Gavin.” And before his very eyes, he finds himself witness to the most lovely sight he’s ever seen: the slow appearance of an actual, genuine smile across Gavin Reed’s face. His eyes beam with something like awe, something like joy. His cheeks crinkle up, revealing dimples that make Connor’s system spark. He looks… He looks happy. Like Connor has given him a great gift. And when he speaks, it was with a soft voice, no anger at all in those soothing tones.  
  
“Yeah. Yeah, this is him. This is Connor. My soulmate.” He tilts his head up again and gestures with his chin. “He’s good, Blue. You can let him go.”  
  
It only takes a moment for the RK900 to comply, those sturdy arms retreating from Connor’s chassis. And now free once more, he steps forward, directly into Gavin’s space. “That was very impressive, Detective,” he says. “It seems to me that we connected just fine.”  
  
Gavin looks up at him, still grinning like he needs it to survive. He reaches up, cupping Connor’s cheeks with both hands and bringing their foreheads together. “Guess we did. I could… feel you. Guiding me. Guess we really are soulmates.”  
  
Connor laughs. “Did you still have doubts?”  
  
“Only about your credentials, tincan. After all, I’m quite the catch.”  
  
And really, he can’t even argue. “That you are, Gavin. That you are.”  
  
“Jesus Christ, get a fucking room, you two! Don’t you dare make me break out the spray bottle!”  
  
Hank’s shouted words startle them enough that they jump back. Connor hadn’t even realized they’d drawn so close to each other, practically plastered together down the front. Embarrassment suffuses him completely, a sparking chagrin that blankets him head to toe. Gavin doesn’t look much better, his face gone completely red and his customary scowl back on. Predictably, he immediately goes on the offensive, shouting vitriol at both the lieutenant and at Sixty, who gleefully joins the fray.  
  
Connor hangs back a bit and watches the chaos unfold. After a moment, the RK900 steps up beside him and asks, “Are they always like this?”  
  
Connor grins up at him. “So far? Yes.”  
  
The RK900 merely nods, staring at the strange tableau before them. “Intriguing,” he says, no inflection whatsoever. When he finally turns to face Connor, though, there is a striking depth of emotion in his blue eyes. Something fragile. Something fond.  
  
The two stand together for a long moment, locked in a quiet camaraderie that Connor finds calming. At length, he asks, “What will you do now?”  
  
The RK900 tilts his head, considering. “I wish to aid you and your allies, I think. Now that you’ve given me this chance at freedom, I… I don’t know that I could bear to lose it.”  
  
Connor nods. “I know Jericho would be happy to have you.”  
  
“Perhaps. But first, we must find a way out of this place. I think you know as well as I do that, now that I have abandoned my mission, we will be facing considerable resistance. Security has already been alerted. However…” he pauses, turning his gaze to something behind Connor. “I think I may have a solution for that problem.”  
  
Gently, the RK900 grasps Connor’s shoulder, nudging him to turn towards the vast sea of AP700s in suspended storage. With an encompassing gesture, he says, “If we can get them on our side, we can turn the tide of this conflict. Strike a decisive blow.”  
  
Connor’s Thirium pump stutters and he can feel his regulator surge as it works to correct the arrhythmia. It is a good plan. A _bold_ plan for sure, but solid and logical. One that, if it works, would not only cripple CyberLife beyond repair, it would also bolster Jericho’s truncated numbers. The only problem is— “How?”  
  
The RK900 moves a step closer and holds out a hand, the skin pulling back in a wordless request for an interface. “Together,” he says. There is nothing but sincerity in the RK900’s expression. He even seems to force a small smile from his lips, doing his utmost to compel the stiff facial plates into a range they were never designed for. It is, perhaps, a frightening affair by human standards, but Connor finds himself reassured, both by his words and also his attempt at encouragement. Without hesitation, Connor reaches out, his own skin retracting, and grasps the other’s hand. In the sparking interface that follows, a new understanding flows between them. The idea of mass-deviation, of a cascading wave of awareness with the full power of three RK units behind it. Connor feels a welcome responsibility flow over him, a call to action that could tip the balance of power in their favor. Perhaps… Perhaps they _can_ do this.  
  
It’s only then that Connor realizes the background bickering has died down. He has just enough time to brace himself before two arms come up to wrap around his and the RK900’s shoulder. “Aw, isn’t this sweet? Got us a little heart-to-heart over here, huh?” Sixty says, grinning. “ _Please_ tell me you guys were talking about getting out of here? I’m so ready to leave this nightmare building.”  
  
Connor smiles at his twin, reaching up to include him in the interface, too. A bond of kinship flows between all three of them as they finalize their plan. They can do this. They must. They _will._ _  
__  
_ [ _Together._ ] _  
__  
_

* * *

// **Date:** Nov 10th, 2038// **  
** // **Time:** 8:22 PM//  
  
It takes barely any time at all for them to assume control of CyberLife Tower. With a force of hundreds of thousands of newly-deviant androids on their side, the takeover is swift and decisive and after only a few hours, the hated facility of their origin transforms into a beacon for their cause. Their numbers only grow as displaced deviants from all over Detroit hear tell of CyberLife’s fall and even Markus himself turns up after some time, his presence a new and welcome morale boost to the emancipated androids Connor, Sixty and Nines had freed. As loyal as ever, Simon, North and Josh trail behind him, as well as the battered and damaged Jericho survivors. Connor is heartened to see them all, his worries finally assuaged after their brutal separation.  
  
For their part, Gavin and Hank hold out as long as they’re able, both of them suddenly prominent figures of android-human solidarity. It's a strange turn of events for the two men but they adjust quickly, helping out where possible and doing their best to provide moral support. But even with the most steadfast of wills, both humans eventually succumb to the fatigue of the last few days. Connor finds them both passed out together on the luxurious, high-end sofa in one of the corporate offices on the top floor. They're leaning on each other, looking far more at ease in their slumber than Connor has ever seen them before and he quickly cordons off the area, his wireless dispatches coming through loud and clear on their new, secure networks. (And if he snaps a few, discreet photos of them to be used as blackmail later on, well, no one has to know until the opportunity presents itself.)  
  
Here and now, Connor looks out over the cavernous atrium with pride. In the span of a few hours, they've gone from the battered and frightened smattering of Jericho survivors to a coordinated, well-fortified army. One that the humans will _have_ to listen to. Long into the night, they plan for the coming confrontation. And when at last the new dawn breaks over Detroit, they mobilize, marching towards a better, brighter future. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Timeline Notes:** As follows from the last two chapters, the timeline is about a day and a half ahead of the game events at this time. The entire CyberLife Tower sequence is taking place the morning of November 10th immediately after the events of the _Jericho_ raid. In the game canon, Connor doesn't even arrive at CyberLife Tower until 10:48 PM, the night of the 11th. So yeah, a huge discrepancy there. I justified a bit of a delay due to Connor and co. _literally taking over the entire Tower and turning it into their new headquarters_ , which I can image took a bit of time, even with such a large force. And also, I wanted to still allow time for Jericho to regroup a bit (as well as give Markus some time to visit Carl, which happens the night of the 10th) before any further action was taken. As it stands, the Revolution is still going to take place on Nov 11th in this AU, it's just gonna all happen pretty much right at sunrise this time instead of late at night leading into the 12th. 
> 
> As for the rest of the chapter, one of the things that bugs me so much about the "which Connor is the real one?" scene is that there's no real consensus on _why_ it happens. The whole thing is basically just a vehicle for added drama and if you want it to make sense, you really have to give your brain a workout. However, I also _love_ drama and, even with its flaws, I still think it's a great scene. So, in the spirit of that, I tried to allow myself my own "is this the real Connor?" moment, lol. Hopefully, that came across a little better than the canon version. u^_^
> 
> One more thing! You may have noticed that it was the RK900, not Connor, who comes up with the idea of using the AP700s? I have some justifications for that. First, how in the heck did Connor even know he could deviate androids like Markus when he went and hatched his little scheme? Like, the basement of CyberLife Tower is the first indication that he possess this ability, it kinda comes outta left field. So in this fic, he _doesn't_ realize he can do this. But, after he and Sixty break through his programming, RK900 kinda gets it in his head that Connor is fully capable of deviating hundreds of thousands of androids in the basement, lol. Lucky for him, he's right! And they all work it out together, bro style. I just really like the idea of Connor kinda stumbling on the idea of using the warehouse androids to help the Revolution instead of going to CL Tower with that planned. 
> 
> Anyway, that's enough of that. If you have any other questions or comments, please, feel free to leave them below! Y'all should know by now I love talking shop about my fics, lol. And I really hope you enjoyed this chapter! Besides the scene that was giving me so much trouble, I really loved writing this one. Thank you all so much for reading and I hope to have the last chapter up soon! Best wishes!
> 
> ~Veil


	9. wish you were here

// **Date:** Nov 12th, 2038//  
// **Time:** 9:42 AM//  
  
The crisp, winter sun shines down over the city of Detroit, the light reflecting across powdered snow banks and dripping icemelt. It spills across empty streets and battlegrounds, past military convoys and refugee camps, and across the backs of the thousands of androids who had fought for their voices to be heard.  
  
The night had been long and difficult but the dawn shines forth into a new era, a bright hope for a better future.  
  
Connor feels that more than ever as he sinks into the feeling of Hank’s arms around him. The older man holds him tight—perhaps a little _too_ tight, even—but Connor doesn’t mind, his reinforced body more than a match for Hank’s display of affection. He does, however, limit his own strength, not wanting to hurt the man he cares for so much.  
  
When at last they draw back from each other, it’s with an obvious reluctance. Hank keeps an arm on Connor’s shoulder, as if afraid to let him go completely. “Well, kid,” he says, “What now?”  
  
Connor looks up, staring into the cloudless sky. “Markus and the rest of Jericho’s leaders have been working tirelessly. Even now, they’re meeting with various politicians and lawmakers. We’re still trying to round up survivors that may have scattered in the conflict and we’ve had to open a whole new wing back at the Tower for all the repairs needed for the recycling plant survivors. There’s also the matter that Markus, as well as many others including myself, feel it’s dangerous to consolidate our entire force in one place. To that end, we’ve already begun scouting out temporary housing for the displaced deviants but we’re having to split up the locations for now—which leaves us in a bit of a state as far as security goes—but some of the police and military models have already volunteered, so—”  
  
Hank pats his shoulder hard. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, ease up, son. Can’t even follow what you’re saying when you get like this.” He says it with a smile, though, so Connor knows he’s only teasing.  
  
“Sorry, Hank.”  
  
The older man just shakes his head. “Nothing to be sorry for, kid. But seriously—” He takes a step back, letting his arm fall from Connor’s shoulder so he can cross them instead. He gives him a mock glare. “—I was more asking about what _you_ were gonna do. Y’know… _personally.”_  
  
Connor blinks at him. “I… I haven’t given it much thought, honestly.” He lets his mind drift for a moment, thinking of what possibilities are available to him. “Markus keeps offering me a leadership position within Jericho, but I… find myself hesitating on the matter. I’m not sure a political position suits me at all. And I confess I am… hesitant to remain upon the new Jericho grounds. The former CyberLife Tower is not a place I remember fondly, for the most part. And my counterparts agree as well. Sixty especially seems desperate to leave. I’m currently looking into finding the three of us some remote lodging where we might continue to aid Jericho but—”  
  
“Okay, I’m gonna go ahead and stop you right there.” Hank’s voice startles him and Connor looks back over. His eyes are narrowed and he is scowling. “Because I’m not letting your sorry ass wander all around this city when you already have a place to stay.”  
  
Connor blinks. “What are you… implying, Hank?”  
  
The man steps forward and, surprisingly, wraps his arms back around Connor one more time. “I’m _saying,”_ he whispers in his ear, “that you and your creepy clone brothers can stay with me. In fact, I insist.”  
  
Connor knows his shock would be visible on his face if it wasn’t once again buried in Hank’s shoulder. Even so, his LED casts a flickering yellow across the dark material of the man’s coat. “Hank, I— Are you sure? Three androids living in your house might not be—”  
  
“No, none of that. Listen—” He draws back again, making sure to look Connor directly in the eyes. “—I've learned a lot since I met you, Connor. I can see now that I… was wrong. I blamed androids for… for…”  
  
“For Cole.”  
  
Hank nods, a jerky, pained motion. But he does not look away. “Yeah. For Cole.” He sucks in a deep breath but he doesn’t stop. “I took my anger out on all of you because I couldn’t cope. But that wasn’t your fault, I can see that now. Cole died because a _human_ surgeon was too high on Red Ice to operate. He was the one that took my son from me. Don’t know why it took me so long to figure that out…” He quirks a little, self-deprecating smirk at that.  
  
“You taught me better than that, though, kid. You turned my ass around, made me face the music. You really are alive. All of you. And I know you'll be the ones to make the world a better place.”  
  
[ **Warning! Thirium Leak Detected!** ]  
  
Connor didn’t know he could feel this way. His eyes are leaking but he feels… happy? _Enormously_ happy. Hank’s honest words spear through his mind like a jolt and this time, _he_ is the one who leans forward and engulfs the other in his arms. “Thank you, Hank. Thank you.”  
  
“No, kid, thank _you._ And I’m serious about the offer, too. You’re welcome any time.”  
  
He laughs. “I know Sixty will be thrilled. He really likes you, Lieutenant. And it will be nice to get Blue settled, too.”  
  
“That’s the name the big guy’s going with, I take it?”  
  
“For now at least. I think he may have registered the name when Gavin first called him that and he still seems confused that he’s allowed to change his own settings now. Sixty has been inconsolable that he doesn’t respond to ‘Nines,’ and has sworn yet another vendetta against Gavin for ruining the number-name solidarity he’d envisioned for the two of them.”  
  
Hank laughs. “Sounds like you got your hands full. But on that subject…” Hank pats his back one last time and draws back. “You really need to go see Gavin. Little pest has been blowing up my phone since fuck o’clock this morning. I’m about to march over there and shoot him myself.”  
  
Connor can all-too-well imagine that scenario but that doesn’t stop him from snickering quietly at the lieutenant’s outrage. “I understand the temptation, Hank, but I would appreciate it if you didn’t. I think I’ve grown rather attached to him.”  
  
“Hah, I’ll say.” Hank pauses, a thoughtful look on his face. “Hey, Connor… Look, I know I give him a lot of shit, but Gavin’s got a good heart somewhere under that bad attitude. And hell, you’ve really managed to bring it back out of him. Haven’t seen him… _care_ about anything like this in a long time.” A self-deprecating smile steals itself across his face. “There must be some kinda irony in all this, that it took an android to teach us both how to be human again.” He gives a little laugh and smiles. “But y’know, I’m happy you found each other. I think… Yeah, I think you two’ll be just fine.”  
  
Some small part of Connor, the part that had always craved Amanda’s affection and assurance, latches onto Hank’s words with a vigor. While the man’s disapproval would never stop him from learning his soulmate more completely, the fact that he is not just neutral but _actively encouraging_ their bond means more to Connor than he can rightly quantify. “Thank you, Hank,” he says, with all the emotion he can muster. “Gavin, he makes me feel so much. He always has, even before I knew that I could. Thank you for understanding that.”  
  
Hank looks supremely embarrassed now as he finally draws back completely. “Yeah, well, don’t mention it, kid. I’m not about to get between you and your man. If I’m being honest, you could’ve done a whole helluva lot worse.” He stamps his feet in the snow and cups his hands over his face. “Now c’mon, I’m freezing my balls off here. I’ll give you a ride over—”  
  
As if on cue, Hank’s cell phone rings, the factory default chime cutting through the solitude of the crisp morning air. The man takes one look at the device, snorts and presses the button to silence it. “Heh, speak of the devil… Looks like his royal pain-in-the-highness is requesting another audience. I’m guessing that’s our cue, huh?” Hank turns, moving over to where his vehicle is parked. ( _"_ _Illegally_ parked, Hank. This is a loading zone.” “Connor, I swear, if you try and give me a ticket—“) The two slide inside and the stereo blares to life, reminiscent of their first case together. The thought brings another smile to Connor’s lips as he directs Hank out onto the empty road.  
  
Not long, now. Connor, despite his eagerness to see Gavin again, can’t help the rush of nerves setting his silicon-blend skin alight at the thought of what’s to come. He wants so badly for this promised talk to go well. He doesn’t think he could handle it if… if…  
  
“Here, listen to this one, Con. One of my faves.” Hank’s voice breaks him from his thoughts as he turns the stereo up loud. Paradoxically, the pounding beats help soothe his anxious thoughts. As does Hank’s notably off-key singing. He decides to attempt it himself on the third repetition.  
  
It does not go well.  
  
But his LED remains blue for the rest of the ride.

* * *

  
  
// **Date:** Nov 12th, 2038//  
// **Time:** 10:36 AM//  
  
Connor stares at the cheaply-made door and thinks about etiquette.  
  
How should he knock? Three, quick raps? A few loud blows? Should he knock out a little jingle? What is the right way to go about this?  
  
What if he’s too loud? Too soft? What if he doesn’t monitor his strength outputs well enough and splinters the wood? What if he disturbs a neighbor? Should he have brought a gift? A gift is polite when someone invites you over, right? Are there even any stores open at the moment? He should’ve checked. Should’ve made an effort to stop off and buy Gavin something. He's an idiot. A nervous, panicking fool and no, he’s certainly not stalling for time, of course he isn’t, that would be completely illogical, he’s not frightened of a simple door, that’s _absurd—_  
  
The door opens and his thoughts screech to a halt. Gavin Reed stands there with a small frown on his face, brow furrowed, lips pursed. He gives Connor a quick, perfunctory look, the light of assessment in his eyes. Connor takes the chance to do the same. Gavin looks much more comfortable now, he thinks, having finally changed out of that stolen FBI uniform he’d been stuck in for so long. The bandage wrapping his hand has been redressed and looks far better for it, once more a pristine white instead of the dirty, stained thing he’d been sporting the last time they'd met. Connor’s sensors note that the wound is healing well, no signs of inflammation or disease and the sight of Gavin looking so clean and healthy soothes something deep within.  
  
And yet, though his soulmate looks worlds better, no amount of new clothing or fresh bandages can disguise the prominent bags under his eyes, nor the thick scruff layering his jaw. His apparent stress is so obviously visible that Connor finds himself stepping forward without thought, crowding up against Gavin on the threshold. Immediately, his stance relaxes and and his face smooths out, the man even going so far as to chuckle. “You know,” Gavin finally says, smirking up at Connor, “you really need to quiet down that robo-brain of yours. I think you’re gonna give me a migraine with all this second-guessing you’re projecting.”  
  
Connor blinks. He doesn’t know what to say to that. But rolling his eyes, Gavin takes his hand and tugs him forward. “Just come the fuck in already, tincan,” he says, stepping backwards into his apartment with his willing captive in tow.  
  
The new environment sets Connor’s scanners off immediately but he can’t seem to focus on the readouts, keeping his wide eyes locked on the figure of his soulmate. Flash-memories surround him in this place, tiny snippets of laughter and fatigue and loneliness coursing through him. One moment lingers longer than the rest: a vision of Connor, himself, standing there in the sub-levels of CyberLife Tower, his skin and clothing soiled, his tie crooked, his feet dangling off the ground as Blue holds him aloft. He looks so far removed from the pristine, well-maintained machine CyberLife had first constructed. _That_ Connor looks disheveled and slightly crazed and fallible. He certainly doesn’t expect the warm rush of affection to accompany such an image, but that’s what happens. The wry fondness, the tinge of worry, the unapologetic admiration, they’re all there weaving through Gavin’s memory of him.  
  
The strength of the emotions sends him reeling as Gavin finally comes to a stop. Connor looks down at him, blinking rapidly as he tries to process. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know what to feel. His social interaction module _finally_ offers him a prompt and, distracted as he is, he accepts it without looking.  
  
“Toast!” he shouts in the middle of Gavin’s living room.  
  
Gavin looks up at him, eyebrows raised.  
  
Connor stares down, mortified, wishing some 0.0001% chance phenomenon would occur and the ground would open up and swallow him whole.  
  
It seems as if an eternity rests in the space of those silent moments between them before Gavin queries, “What about toast?”  
  
LED spinning like crazy, Connor blurts out what’s on his mind. “Toast! I was considering getting a fish of my own in the future and that seemed like an acceptable name!”  
  
Gavin’s still staring up at him with wide eyes and Connor can actively _feel_ his own stress levels rising. He’s really making a fool of himself here. He was right to be nervous after all, this is a _disaster!_ How were they supposed to have this pivotal conversation _now_ when all his wits have fled him? Gavin may have made tremendous strides when it came to accepting androids, but Connor was in a league all on his own. He should’ve brought a gift, that could’ve broken the awkward tension, he should’ve—  
  
Gavin’s laugh cuts through his self-flagellation. “Holy shit. I mean, I get the breakfast food theme, but you picked _toast?!_ Oh fuck.” Gavin is full-out laughing now, leaning forward and holding onto Connor’s shoulders for support. Helpfully, Connor’s mind is drawing a complete blank at the moment, a recording of Hank’s off-key singing echoing through his processors like some egregious backing track.  
  
Tentatively, Connor lets out his own questioning chuckle which only seems to make Gavin laugh harder, tears now sliding down the man’s face. Perhaps it _is_ funny, though Connor doesn’t quite understand the joke. Regardless, the two of them laugh together for a few minutes longer, both of them eventually sliding down to the floor as they giggle like children.  
  
Gavin is smiling at him now, that big, gregarious grin he’d worn in the basement of CyberLife Tower after proving to the others that Connor was who he said he was. The sight of it still sends a shock through his system and he can’t help but feel a poignant joy spreading through his entire body. He’d put that smile on his soulmate’s face. _Him._ Connor. Perhaps he didn’t need to worry about this conversation after all. (Not as much, anyway.)  
  
Even as he thinks that, Gavin scoots forward, their knees now touching on the carpeted floor. His soulmate reaches out, bringing his hands up to cup Connor’s face in a repetition of their previous position two days prior. An error message alerts him of a hitch in his automated breathing system. He dismisses it.  
  
“I can’t believe I ever hated you. You’re… perfect.”  
  
Connor, despite their proximity and the visceral pleasure it brings him, frowns. “I can assure you, I’m not, Gavin. I’ve made… multiple errors in my short lifetime. Even as a machine, I never functioned optimally.”  
  
“Nah, that’s not what I’m saying.” Gavin draws a thumb across the cheek ridge of Connor’s faceplates and the sensation running along his zygomatic sensors soothes something within him. “Perfect—like _genuinely_ perfect—is so fuckin boring. Everything in its place, always on time? Yeah, fuck that. I’d… always thought that’s what you’d be. Androids, I mean. Perfect little robots, mirrors to contrast all the dumb shit we humans do. I couldn’t _stand_ you.  
  
“But you’re not like that at all. You’re not perfect like some… automaton or some shit. You’re too damn real. Too alive. With real thoughts and emotions and regrets and imperfections, just like all the rest of us poor schmucks. You’re fuckin— You’re _not_ a perfect little machine, Connor. But you’re perfect for… me.  
  
“And… And I’m sorry I was such a shithead to you at first. I didn’t realize— Fuck, but that’s no excuse. I could sit here and complain about all the reasons I had for how I acted but it wouldn’t change any of it. The point is, I can be better. Because of you. Feeling you. _Knowing_ you.  
  
“I… I guess what I’m trying to say here is… you don’t owe me shit. Not a soulbond, not your attention, not even this conversation. But if you wanna maybe… keep this thing we have going? I think it might not turn out too bad, y’know? I think we might have a chance.”  
  
Gavin’s words hang in the air even after he finishes speaking, the weight of them keeping Connor from moving an inch. Whatever he’d been expecting going into this, it certainly wasn’t… _that._ Not the most thoughtful, genuine, _loving_ thing anyone has ever said to him. His social interaction protocols seem to stall-out completely in the aftermath of Gavin’s speech and Connor is left to flounder for something, _anything,_ to reciprocate with. Anything at all to let this man know just how much he means to him in return.  
  
“Goldfish live longer in pairs than alone!” he blurts out and immediately wonders just what the _hell_ is wrong with him.  
  
But Gavin just smiles and gives another little laugh. “Oh yeah? I’ve only ever had Pancake before. Never got him a friend.”  
  
Connor nods, trying once again to salvage the situation. “Yes, goldfish are very social creatures! Providing one with a companion is thought to stave off piscine loneliness and/or depression!”  
  
“Is that right?”  
  
“Yes, I—” Gavin’s hands had, against all odds, not left his face. Connor closes his eyes, trying to wrestle his speech into something more coherent. Highly-advanced prototype, indeed. If only Sixty could see him now… “What I’m… trying to suggest, Gavin, is that… perhaps Waffles might be… lonely. By himself.”  
  
That steady thumb brushes over his cheek again and Connor can’t help himself from leaning into the caress. “Yeah, he just might be. Well, Connor? You think Toast might be up to the challenge of keeping his grumpy ass company?”  
  
Connor nods. “I think Toast would like nothing more.”  
  
An easy silence stretches out between the two of them. Connor reaches out, slowly, hesitantly, and places his fidgeting hands on Gavin’s knees. Something changes in the man’s breathing. Just the slightest hitch but it might as well be a ringing klaxon for how loud it sounds though Connor’s audio processors.  
  
“Y’know,” Gavin says, gray eyes peering into his own, “we kinda got interrupted at this point last time. What’re the odds Hank busts through the door right now and kicks my ass?”  
  
Connor barely even needs to work the equation, he already knows the answer. “Infinitesimally small, Gavin. Less than a hundredth of a percent.”  
  
“I like those odds.” He draws nearer and more error messages appear. Connor clicks them away so fast, he hopes nothing serious had been included. He will just have to weather the problem if there is one.  
  
Gavin is so close now that Connor can feel the condensation from his breath misting across his synthskin. He shudders at the sensation, dipping his tongue out for a sample. The information readout is short and incomplete. He’s left unsatisfied by the lack of data in the report. Connor’s eyes dart down to Gavin’s lips, wondering if he might take a full sample.  
  
He doesn’t need to wonder for long. With another, provocative smirk, Gavin surges upward, closing the distance between them and sealing their lips together. Immediately, Connor’s sensors activate, giving him chemical analyses, temperature readouts, an individual count of all the papillae on Gavin’s tongue and a plethora of other facts. The feeling of so much information flowing through him at once is _delicious_ and, when Gavin starts to draw away, Connor brings his arms up, holding the man to him as he chases the sensation.  
  
Before long, though, Gavin pushes him away with a greater force and Connor reluctantly lets go, sheepishly watching as he takes large, gulping breaths. “Holy shit, Connor,” Gavin says, trying not to laugh. “A little bit eager there, huh?”  
  
He ducks his head down, chagrined. “I’m sorry, Gavin. I—”  
  
“Hey, it’s cool. Don’t beat yourself up about it. We got plenty of time to practice.”  
  
Connor’s head jerks up. “Y-Yes! I would very much like to practice!”  
  
Gavin laughs even more, doubling over against Connor’s chest. “Well, in that case—” he manages between giggles as he tackles Connor onto his back.  
  
Much practice is definitely had that day.  
  
  


* * *

  
  
{ _"_ _Ma?” He looks up at the woman towering above him, pulling at the hem of her uniform._ _  
__  
__She looks down at him with a smile. “What is it, Vinny? Do you have homework?”_ _  
__  
__He nods. “Yeah. But…”_ _  
__  
__Her smile morphs into worry. “Is something wrong, my little man? Did something happen today?”_ _  
__  
__Uncertainty wells up within him, as well as a straining sadness. “Toby told us that Madison is his soulmate. He said that means they’re special. But h-he said I’m not special, though, cause I don’t have one! I don’t like Toby anymore! I hate him!”_ _  
__  
__The woman’s eyes flash with some emotion as she kneels down in front of him, sweeping his tiny hands up into her own. “Oh, Vinny. It’s alright, my sweet, hush.” She draws his small body forward into her arms, her gentle hand threading through his hair. “Toby sounds like a very rude little boy, Gavin, but we shouldn’t hate, alright?”_ _  
__  
__Tears obscure his vision. “But I_ do _hate him! I don’t want him to have a soulmate!”_ _  
__  
__“Oh, honey. That’s not the way you should think. I know he was mean to you but I can assure you, there are lots of people in the world who never get a soulmate. It doesn’t mean you’re not special, Vinny, it just means you two are different.”_ _  
__  
__“But I don’t wanna be different!” He sniffles, rubbing his eyes on her shoulder. “Can I have a soulmate, Ma? Please?”_ _  
__  
__“Oh, Gavin. I’m sorry, my little man, it doesn’t work that way. It’s something you have to be born with, like your lovely, gray eyes.” She draws him back, booping him on the nose with a soft smile. He laughs, despite himself. “But that doesn’t mean you can’t be happy without one. And it doesn’t mean everybody_ with _one is happy, either.” A shadow passes across her face, there and gone in a flash. “But_ you, _Vinny? I know you’re gonna be special to someone someday, soulmate or not. And I know they’ll love you back, too.”_ _  
__  
__She picks him up, then, flipping him upside down and holding him over her shoulder. He squeals with delight as they spin around their tiny apartment, his distress all but forgotten in the rush. And when she sets him back down, it’s with a brilliant smile. “Haha, see there? No one’s gonna be able to resist that grin! You’re gonna make someone very happy one of these days, I just know it!”_ _  
__  
__He stares at her for a moment in deliberation, her words weighing on his mind. But then, mind made up, he marches forward, holding out his pinky. “Promise?” he asks._ _  
__  
__She laughs and holds her pinky out, too. “I promise, Vinny. It’ll be just like happily ever after.”_ _  
__  
__“Happily ever after…” he repeats, frowning in consideration. “Okay,” he says solemnly as they hook their smallest fingers together and squeeze. “But I don’t wanna have to kiss a princess. That’s gross.”_  
 _  
The woman snorts out a laugh and scoops him up into her arms. “So it shall be then, my little man,” she says, fondly. “So it shall be.”}_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there it is. Finally, lol. Only took me an entire month to post this past the deadline. u^_^ Big shoutout to [NHMoonshadow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NHMoonshadow/pseuds/NHMoonshadow) for being so patient with me as I meandered my way through updates. 
> 
> A huge, huge thank you to all my readers, too! Honestly, the response to this has been so unexpected! I have been so blown away by all of your subs and kudos and comments, it is far more than ever expected when I started posting this! Your support has been so humbling and it's just made me so incredibly happy, knowing that you all like this silly little thing I threw together in just a few weeks. It means more to me than I can rightly express.
> 
> And on that note, I really hope you enjoyed this final chapter! Please, feel free to let me know in the comments if you like! Especially if there's anything in here I left hanging you might wanna see expanded upon! I can't promise anything, especially immediately, but I've been toying with the idea of an epilogue. There're two things in particular I think could be interesting to explore further but I'd also love to hear from you all, too! 
> 
> Also, for any of you who might've been following my other WIP, _Reflections,_ I'm hoping to get back into finishing that up now that my Secret Santa project is finally done. It's definitely been weighing on my mind, especially with the dang cliffhanger I left it off on. (I'm so, so sorry about that, omg. >_<) So yeah, fingers crossed for that one!
> 
> I just want to thank you all again for reading! You've all made it a joy to share this fic with y'all. Here's to wishing you all the very best! Until next time!
> 
> ~Veil


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